


The Blood Curse

by Erika_Bee



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Angst, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fix-It, Friends to Lovers, Geralt is overprotective, Hand Jobs, Homophobia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Jaskier is so done, Jealous Geralt, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Noble Jaskier, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn With Plot, Post 1x06, Slow Burn, Smut, Spanking, Vampire Bites, Vampire Jaskier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 51,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22125550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erika_Bee/pseuds/Erika_Bee
Summary: "Vampirism is not a sickness, Jaskier, either you’re born with it, or you’re not."OrJaskier gets turned into a Bruxa and Geralt is proven wrong.Translation:русский
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 813
Kudos: 2669
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	1. Chapter 1

The room smelled of roses and old wood, thick with a mist of incense that made Geralt’s nose furrow in discomfort.

“Why am I here?” He asked, his voice strained with impatience.

The lady before him didn’t flinch. A smile appeared on her painted crimson lips as she tilted her head in amusement.

“You’re a witcher, are you not? Impress me.”

Mercenaries had brought him to her. They gave Geralt a beating so hard—he became manageable enough for transport. They were all experienced swordsmen and very ruthless ones at that. They spared no effort in making sure the witcher wouldn’t be able to stand without feeling the true extent of their bruises along his ribs.

“Witcher yes, soothsayer? No. Either you tell me now or I’ll be on my way.”

As Geralt turned to walk out, armed men, posted by the door, stopped him. Their lack of armors and dead eyes made it obvious they weren’t typical castle guards. More mercenaries.

“Come on, white wolf, I know you can do better.”

A sigh escaped his lips.

“First you have your men beat me, and then you want to play games? I expected more courtesy from a Countess.”

“You know who I am?” She asked, her thin brows raising in question.

Geralt sighed.

“These kinds of resources usually come with a title. Your dress is too ambitious for a mere noblewoman but too simple for a queen. So—a countess.”

“Impressive.”

“No, just not my first time dealing with the entitled aristocracy.”

“I’ve heard the ballads.” She smiled.

“Then you’ve also heard what happened to them. Now, get to the point. If it’s for a monster, a simple letter would’ve sufficed.”

She glanced at her men, dismissing them with a single shift of eyes. Powerful, as well as wealthy. A mix that usually spelled trouble for the witcher. She advanced in a seductive pace, letting her curves run wild and until only a step remained between them. Her perfume, now too strong for Geralt’s liking, smelled like fresh mint and raspberry.

Geralt frowned at its familiarity. He had encountered the smell before, somewhere. He was sure of it. Faint, like the aftermath of morning, when the dew dried, and the wind carried the last of its scent into the horizon.

Or in this case, sticking on the skin of a certain bard, as he drank his woes away or bragged about a certain muse-

He took a step back.

“Countess de Stael?”

Her smirked widened. “And you say you’re not a soothsayer.”

To say the Countess was out of the bard’s league was the understatement of the year. She was of a rare and mature beauty that didn’t fit those usually wooed by Jaskier’s silly love songs.  
Geralt had yet to hear the story of this particular catch.

“If this is about Jaskier, I don’t care. Leave me out of your lover’s quarrels.” He sighed.

While his tone was cold, the pang of guilt in his stomach was anything but. It was as if melting iron had spilled in his guts, reminding him constantly of the last exchange he and Jaskier had shared, back in King Niedamir’s mountains.

A memory Geralt preferred not to linger on.

“Have you heard of Baron Vess?” She asked.

Who hadn’t? The man’s penchant for cutting the balls off his enemies was well known across the continent. It even earned him a ridiculous sobriquet;

Cock Ripper.

“The affairs of the Ripper are no concerns of mine, Countess, nor are yours.” He said, readying himself to leave.

She leaned back against her desk. “What about the affairs of your friend? Aren’t you a bit curious as to why, of all people, it is you that I summoned here?”

“He’s not my friend.” He said.

“Potayto, potahto. The point is Witcher, I have a job for you.”

Guilt was a treacherous thing. It weighed on the conscience until becoming too heavy to shoulder. If it had been about anyone else-

“I’m listening.”

Geralt would have walked away.

  
  
x

  


Rain poured down from the dark sky, leaving the ground so heavy with mud, Roach’s trots became labored and slow. By the time he arrived at Svelt, Geralt’s bones felt like slabs of ice beneath his soaked cloak.

The tavern was loud with chants and laughter. People paid no mind to his arrival, except the occasional whispers at the glimpse of his necklace.

“Geralt of fucking Rivia, in my establishment. I’ll be damned!”  
The barman stood before him, a grin as wide as a moon crescent on his face.

“You’ve heard of me.” He said dryly.

“Heard? Aye.” He turned to the now curious crowd. “We all did. Toss a coin to your witcher and all that—you’re quite the hero around here.”

Geralt sighed. Once again, Jaskier had painted him off as the savior of humanity—the valiant hero of the continent, the beast-slayer even, but failed to mention the most important bit.  
He was no one’s savior.

“The bard’s been here?”

The barman nodded. “Sang your prowess to the gods too. A good lad, that one. Bit of a troublemaker, though.”  
Geralt removed his hood. “Why’s that?”

“Got too close to Lester’s wife. The man’s protective of his lass, you know? Gave him a good old-fashioned beating.” He laughed.

Typical Jaskier. Always going after the taken ones, as if all his answers laid in another’s garden. It wasn’t as if he lacked admires—women seemed drawn to him no matter what, like flies hovering above a pile of shit.

_The chase, Witcher. Have you ever experienced it?_ The Countess’ words still echoed in his mind. _Jaskier thrives in it._

Chasing was one thing, getting beaten to death was another.

His fist tightened. “And then?”

The Barman shrugged. “Then he left, licking his wounds. Ensel-” He pointed at a fellow at the bar with most of his teeth missing and dirt all over his face. “Said he saw him a week ago at Madame Tusseau. Might still be there if you’re looking for him.”  
  
  


  
“I’m telling you Master Witcher, the bard laid in a bed of women, not one worry in his face. Madame Tusseau, they called it. Pretty name for a shitty brothel.”

The Jaskier he knew would’ve never allowed himself to sink so low. He once told Geralt that for a man of prestige and refined taste, settling for whores was like a death sentence. It killed the ego as quickly as a Wraith’s kiss killed a man.

While Geralt never paid mind to such things, he came to avoid throwing coins at women in the bard’s presence. Jaskier would not have minded working his voice raw just to convince Geralt of the unsanitary of it.

“So where’s this brothel?”

“North of here, across the Willow. A town named Bosk, but it’s not safe to travel there, not for men anyhow.”  
Peasants and their superstitions…

“When you mean men—”

“I mean blokes—decent ones too. A few have gone missing since they found Harry last month, lying dead near the lake, drained dry of his blood. Jane’s boy, the baker’s brother—”

“But you saw Jaskier?”

“Alive and breathin. Must be your luck rubbin off on him, eh?”  
That or no beast would approach him in fear of having its eardrums pierced.  
“When you traveled the Willow, did you see anything amiss?”  
“Nay, but I’m not one of the pretty ones, am I? Ain’t no vampire gonna drink me. Now that you’re here though, you’ll take care of the gruesome thing, right?”

Geralt sighed. Dozens of species, as well as subspecies, could qualify as vampiric. Finding which one was responsible for this mess would be like searching for a needle in a haystack- dull and very time-consuming.

“For a price, yes, but first I need to settle my business with the bard. I’ll come back once I’m done and then—we’ll talk.”

Missing teeth raised his cup. “Aye. Got meself some spare coins. If we all pitch in, we ought to afford you, Master Witcher.”

Geralt hummed “In the meanwhile, keep out of the Willow.” He paused, “One last thing. Lester, you know where he lives?”  


  
  
The Willow had proved itself to be a regular wood, deceivingly boring and very silent. No vampires in sight, not even a simple ghoul, for that matter. Geralt certainly wouldn’t have minded the exercise.

As soon as he arrived in Bosk, shudders of disgust traveled down his spine. People here were so dirty, their stench carried across the wind like a plague. 

They fucked and drank in the streets like animals, shouting and laughing in the middle of the night. Geralt couldn’t imagine Jaskier being in such a place. He usually avoided them like the pest, insisting he’d rather sleep in the wood. For him to change so drastically in only a few months-

It made Geralt uncomfortable, to say the least.  
  
The brothel sat near the outskirt of town. Men stumbled out of the doors, pissed drunk, trousers unfasten and their cocks still hanging out.  
The true epitome of class.

Geralt entered with a scowl on his face.

A woman greeted him with a smile. “Geralt of Rivia.”

Once all this was over, Geralt needed to have an urgent talk with the bard. The last thing he needed was for his name to be mentioned in flea-infested brothels. People would get the wrong idea about the kind of services he provided.

“I gathered you’re the Madame around here?” He asked, eyeing the other girls warily.

“What gave it away?” She scoffed. “The clothing?”

Well, she was, after all, the only one wearing any. Madame Tusseau chuckled and guided him to her office. Moans spilled inside the room, even after the door had closed.

“Walls here are shit. Thin as paper. Good thing witchers don’t blush easy.” She grabbed a book from her desk and handed it to Geralt. “Your friend racked up quite a tab. Was about to enlist him as one of my own if you hadn’t come. Pretty boys like him always fetch quite a nice price.”

“He’s not my—” Geralt frowned at the numbers on the page. “How long was he here for?”

“About a fortnight. He’s a demanding one. Keeps my girls busy with all his whims and poems.”

Geralt glanced up. “Why didn’t you throw him out when he ran out of coins?”

“Heard he had a skillful mouth, patrons tend to like that. But I’d rather you take him off my hands before he drives me mad. I swear, If I hear toss a coin one more time, I’ll throw myself off the damn building.” She sighed, “Worse than a peacock, I tell you.”

That, he could relate to.

“Where is he?”

“Pay up and I’ll tell ya. Don’t and your pretty friend starts to work.”

Geralt’s eyes darkened. 

“I’ll pay his debt once I see him.”

She faltered, eyeing the swords on his back in fright.

“Have it your way.” She spat.  
  
Geralt kicked the door open.

He stomped across empty bottles of wines and discarded garments, frowning at the wails of pleasure coming from the bed, high pitched, and so theatrical—they oddly reminded him of screaming banshees.  
He pulled the bed’s curtains open.

“Jaskier.” The witcher growled.

The ladies in the bed squealed, huffed and then—

“The white wolf!”

“Came to join us—”

“No.” He grunted. “Get out.”

The girls scuttled away in haste.

Jaskier’s gaze was weary and unfocused. His dark locks, now grown below his ears, were wet with sweat and uncombed. The bard stared at Geralt, unflinching and quiet, as he grabbed the blanket to cover his dignity—whatever bits he had remaining.

“Geralt.” He said, voice hoarse and uncharacteristically cold.

He meant to rise, but lost his balance and fell right off the bed. Ungraceful, tangled in the sheets, like a duck stuck in a fishing line.  
Geralt pulled the bard by the arm.

“Look at you, you’re a mess.”

Jaskier’s face flushed like a blooming red Aster. On his breath lingered the smell of sweet wine, as well as Pringrape and Sewant mushrooms—a mix strong enough to get a cow high. A clever concoction likely administered by one of the girls, on the madam’ order. Rendering Jaskier malleable enough for whatever plans she had made for him.

The bard scoffed. “I’m not.”

He really was.

A dark tremor traveled Geralt’s arms, urging him to draw his sword—to go and seek retribution against the Madame. Instead, he began gathering the bard’s things.

“We’re leaving.”

Jaskier chuckled, his voice deep, slicing into the silence like a blade. 

“I’m not. You are.”

“Jaskier—”

“Now, Witcher.”

Even when high as a kite, Jaskier put up a good fight. He clawed and trashed against Geralt as the witcher tried to dress him. Kicking his feet, swinging his fists. After a particularly nasty jab to the side, Geralt hauled him up by the shoulder and shook.

“Jaskier! I will drag you out of here naked if I have to but make no mistake—we are leaving.”

The bard gaped, stilling slowly under his grip. Pleased by the sudden change of attitude, Geralt shook once more—for good measure.  
A tremendous mistake, clearly, since a moment after, Jaskier’s head plunged forward, raining vomit down Geralt’s shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fell in love with Geralt and Jaskier after watching the show, so I said to myself, why not write a multi-chapter vampire fic in a fandom I barely know, 
> 
> I'll update regularly.
> 
> (Also, I was bored so I made a cover)
> 
> Leave kudos and comments down below :)


	2. Chapter 2

_“A kill order...on Jaskier’s head?”_

_The Countess nodded. “The Baron wants him to disappear and what he wants, he usually gets. Through bloodshed and dirty money.”_

_Geralt frowned. “And chopped balls.”_

  
x

Blue eyes flickered open, followed by a series of muffled groans. Geralt sat in the corner of the room, arms crossed, a scowled on his lips and darkness gleaming in his gaze.

“You came very close to being strangled in your sleep, Bard.” 

Geralt was no stranger to weird fluids all over his clothing, but usually, the responsible party got a taste of his sword. Never had someone puked on the witcher and lived long enough to tell the tale. 

Jaskier was very lucky, indeed. 

“Surprised I wasn't.” The bard said, glaring at Geralt. 

Getting Jaskier out of that damned brothel had proven as easy as escaping a war zone. If Jaskier had been conscious, he would've no doubt written a ballad about the events. The time, Geralt of Rivia was bullied into paying back a debt- by naked whores, no less. 

A tale, he was glad, would never see the light of day.

“I had the most terrifying nightmare,” Jaskier announced, tone excessively dramatic. “ A witcher appeared out of nowhere, like a starved bear, in the midst of winter- pulling me away from a bed of beauties.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Did it end with your vomit on his shirt? 

“A calamity of his own doing, I'm afraid. But I can’t seem to recall much after that.” 

“He knocked you out.”

“Huh.” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “That explains the throbbing headache.”

"At least you woke- few are alive to say the same." 

“Yet the nightmare still lingers.” 

Geralt grunted, his patience slowly running out. He pulled the bard from the bed and guided him- forcefully, to the small tub- hid behind wooden panels.

“Get in. We’ll talk after you washed the smell of vomit off your skin.” He said. 

Jaskier’s nostrils flared. “I’m not doing anything until you've explained yourself-”

Geralt took a menacing step. “Get. in.” 

“Aren’t you at least going to turn?”

Chances were, Jaskier would take off as soon as he did.

“No.” Geralt grunted.

The bard tore his clothes off in silent outrage. Once in the bath, he yelped, “It’s glacial!” 

“You took a while to wake.” 

“Yes, well- I’m not freezing to death- thank you very much.” He stood.

Geralt forced him back inside the tub. “Stop fussing.” He said, shoving his hand into the water, warming it with his sign. Injuries of all kinds covered the bard's body. Red, blue and purple, like paint on a canvass. Some new, while others- old and untreated. 

All worse than what Geralt had expected.

"You need a fucking healer." He grumbled. While the warmth had soothed Jaskier's struggles, the displeasure on his face remained. “Say your piece if you must.” 

“Oh- no, no, Geralt. That’s not how this works. You don’t just barge into my life, demanding for words you never cared to listen to before.” He paused, scrubbing angrily at his skin. “You made it quite clear where you stood last time we spoke. I have nothing more to say to you.”

“It’s been months, Jaskier-”

“Thus everything's forgiven and forgotten? I don’t think so.” He spat. 

After the dragon's hunt, his words had been raw and ugly. Directed at the bard, simply because he happened to be there. Geralt had regretted them as soon as they flowed out of his mouth but-

The damage had already been done.

“I’m not here to argue with you.” He said simply. 

“Good, because there’s nothing left to argue about. Now If you’ll excuse me, I have a brothel to go back to.”

Jaskier tried to rise, but Geralt shoved him down. Hard.

“They’ll whore you out, Jaskier! That’s what would’ve happened if I hadn’t paid off your debt when I did.” 

“Since when do you care about my wellbeing, Geralt?” Jaskier scoffed. 

The witcher had spent lifetimes not caring, staying as far away from people as possible. Then Renfri happened, the child of surprise, Yennefer- Jaskier too. Emotions were like diseases. Once they spread, getting rid of them was like trying to stop the rain from falling. 

He cared, “I don’t.” but admitting it out loud was something he rather wanted to avoid. "Meet me downstairs when you're done." 

x

  
The witcher ate alone, enjoying the quietness of the inn when Jaskier finally decided to join him. He dressed in one of his usual fineries, his hair neatly combed to the side, a familiar smile on his lips. He snatched a piece of bread from Geralt’s plate, brows raised high as if daring him to complain.

The witcher didn't. Jaskier was already in a fit, the last thing he needed was a public one. The bard chewed in silence, then, a moment later, reached for Geralt’s ale. 

He definitely had grown bolder.

“Jaskier.” Geralt warned. "Order what you want, it's on me." 

The bard paid him no mind and chugged down the ale. Then said, between two mouthfuls of chicken pie, “I don’t need your charity, Geralt." 

"Right." 

He engulfed a few more spoonfuls before speaking again. "Isn’t this the point where you roam about town, in search of a beast to slay?”

“Not much to make a living off around here.”

“Well, unless you’re in the business of rat slaying or flea chasing.” Jaskier chuckled.

“Which one do you fall under?” 

“Whore fucking.” He said, matter-of-factly. “But if you’re not here for the vermin, what then, Geralt?” 

“I’m here for-” The witcher paused, the word 'you' almost escaping his lips. “A different kind of vermin. A vampire.” He said instead. “Was after its trail when I heard the tales of your mayhem.” 

Half-truths were better than no truth at all. 

“Which tale?”

“Baron Vess- rings any bells?” 

Jaskier shrugged, “What about him?” 

“He wants your head, Jaskier, and he's willing to pay a fortune for it, too.”

“A misunderstanding, obviously.” 

A simple misunderstanding wasn't worth all this trouble. The bard's offense had to be a serious one, hitting close to a man’s ego. Unforgivable- 

“Jaskier enough. Who did you fuck to warrant such anger? His wife- daughter, sister?” Geralt fished. 

“Grandmother, actually.” 

“You think this is funny? He’ll have you killed-” 

Something furious flashed in Jaskier’s eyes. “Yes, he will!” He said, slamming his ale down the table. “He’ll still find me, whether I fuck my way to the gates of hell or hide in some shitty cave in the middle of- god knows where.”

“Jaskier-”

“So that’s why you're really here." He sneered. "After all this time... You came to gloat?”

“No, I-” _came to help._

The bard climbed on the table in a fury. “Does my misery matches the gossip, Geralt?” He shouted, drawing the attention of every single person in the inn. 

“Get down.” Geralt hissed through clenched teeth. 

“Why- seen enough, already?” He said, turning slowly. “The great Jaskier, master of music, legendary vocalist, now singing to whores as he fucks them. A downgrade from royal banquets, I must admit, but eternally more satisfying, don't you think? In fact, I'll just show you.”

When Jaskier unfasten his trouser furiously, Geralt whitened in horror.

“Aye, show us your cock!” An old woman yelled from somewhere in the back. 

“Jaskier!” Geralt said fists slamming against the table. “Get. Down.” 

The bard scowled. “Make me.” 

  
x

  
_“What Jaskier and I have is no romance, Witcher. I care for him, deeply, but I rather whip him than embrace him.”_

_Geralt frowned. “That's your...problematic business.”_

_“It’s what he needs.” She carried on, smugly. “A whip hand, like a leash to a dog. Choking but gratifying in so many ways. Right now, Jaskier has no idea what to do with himself. He's jumping from town to town, women from women, leaving in his wake a sea of vengeful husbands. At this rate, he'll get himself killed. With or without the Baron's help."_

  
x

  
The Countess had been right. If left to his own devices, Jaskier would no doubt end up in an early grave. Geralt couldn't let that happen- 

He dragged Jaskier out by the hair, throwing him on the dirt, next to the stable. Away from the curious glances back inside the inn. He pressed the heel of his foot against Jaskier's back, pushing his body flat beneath his boot.

"Let me go!" Jaskier shouted, trashed and cursed.

Geralt didn't move. He recognized a frightened horse when he saw one “Are you done?” He asked when all movement stopped. 

The bard’s shoulder shook weakly beneath his foot while quiet sobs escaped his throat in state of an answer. Geralt waited patiently, keeping his weight on Jaskier. Giving him an excuse to stay down and hide his face.

They remained like this for a moment, then,

“Geralt, y-you’ll break my back,” Jaskier said, his tone now light.

Geralt released him.

“Another one of your tantrums and I’ll do way more than just break it.” He ignored the bard's flushed face and teary eyes. “Go pack your things, we’re leaving for Swelt.”

“Why?” The bard questioned, wiping off the dirt from his clothing. 

“I have a vampire to hunt down and you- a debt to pay- in full. Don’t even think about running off until you earned me those coins back.”

“Fair enough.” Jaskier agreed.

Before the bard headed inside Geralt grabbed him by the shoulder, "We’ll figure this out.” 

The witcher wasn't about to let Jaskier kiss the world goodbye yet. At least, not while he had a say in it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the love guys! I really appreciate it!!
> 
> Vampire Jaskier IS coming...soon
> 
> Once again, leave your comments and kudos down below ♡


	3. Chapter 3

“Unquenched, unquenchable, Around, within, thy heart shall dwell; Nor ear can hear nor tongue can tell, the tortures of that inward hell-” 

“Jaskier,” Geralt grunted, guiding Roach through the Willow and scanning the trees for movement. “Shut up.” 

The road had been long, and heavy with Jaskier’s complaints. When the bard wasn’t moaning, he was either singing or composing out loud. More than once did the witcher considered putting his hands around the bard's neck and squeeze until silence followed.

“But first, on earth as vampires sent, thy corse shall from its tomb be rent; Then ghastly haunt thy native place, and suck the blood of all thy race-” 

“Don’t force me to cut off your tongue.” 

Jaskier scoffed. “Go ahead, why don’t you? At least I won’t end up as vampire juice, throat slashed, blood flooding out-”

“You’ll still bleed out and die.” 

“At least I’ll die human.”

Geralt sighed, “Vampirism is not a sickness, Jaskier, you can’t get infected by it. Either you’re born with it, or you’re not. Now stop romanticizing every monster out there and keep your eyes on the trees.” 

Jaskier’s fingers stilled on his lute. “Right.” A moment later, “Geralt?” He called from the distance, gazing at something down the slope. “That’s-” The bard turned around, clenching his eyes shut. 

A man was lying in a bed of mud. His skin as white as a lily, eyes dead, staring at the nothingness-  
  
_Fuck._

“It’s Lester.” Geralt sighed. “Stay here.” 

The man had a clean bite on his neck as if two droplets of ink had fallen on his skin, without leaving any other smudges. The loss of blood had obviously killed him. But apart from the bite, Lester didn't seem to have suffered any other injuries, not from the beast. anyhow.

  
“What happened to him?” Jaskier said, now crouching next to the corpse. “He’s all bruised up.” He said, gazing at Lester’s black eye and split lip. “Do vampires have the habit of punching their prey in the face?” 

Geralt cursed silently. “I told you to stay put.”

“You seemed to have forgotten that this-” He pointed at the man, “Is my living too, Geralt. I can already imagine the song- vampiric beauties, carved by the gods, hiding in the shadows of the trees, lulling handsome young men- well, not him, obviously, but other- handsomer- to their impending demises- ”

“Jaskier! A man is lying dead, have some respect.” 

“He was nothing but a rabid dog,” Jaskier muttered pettily. 

Geralt ignored him and secured Lester on Roach’s saddle.

x

The town square was quiet as Lester laid bare on the ground. Ensel was the first to speak. “I told you, Master Witcher! Damn vampire, living in our Willow, drinking us dry. You need to help us.” 

“Like he helped Lester?” Someone growled.

An awkward silence followed.

“What do you mean?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt sighed.

_Here we go-_

“The witcher beat him so hard, poor man couldn’t even see colors no more.” 

“Obviously, it was well deserved-” Jaskier said, glancing up at the witcher. “Right, Geralt?” 

“Well deserved my ass. Now we know why people call him the butcher.” 

Jaskier recoiled as if receiving a hit. “Well, it seems like you won’t need his services after all. Come along Geralt, we’ve got plenty of monsters to slay. Elsewhere.” 

The bard grabbed at his arm but Geralt didn’t move. “If I leave this town, I won’t come back. The thing that killed those men will kill again, the only difference is, I won’t be there to stop it. So go ahead, call me a butcher again.” He said.

The complaints stopped, then,

“It’s Lester’s fault for wandering away from the main road-”

“Let him do his damn job!”

“Please, white wolf-”

"-we need you."

Peasants were all the same; one-moment throwing rocks, the other- flowers. As if they were constantly debating whether to welcome the witcher with open arms or stone him to death.

x

  
“You know what did this, Master Witcher?” Ensel asked in anguish. His ale now lying forgotten on the table. 

“Could be a lot of things. Nosferat, alp, mulas- Lester wasn’t mutilated- apart from the obvious wound to the neck, so that narrows down the suspects a bit. But the creature is clever and knows how to cover its tracks.”

“How do we find it, then?” 

“There’s no we. I’ll need to look at the other victim, Harry, then I’ll head back into the Willow to look for more clues.” 

“He’s already in the ground.” 

“Then you’ll dig him up.” He glared.

“Whatever you need, of course.” 

Chances were, this was a simple job and that the previous rain simply erased the trail. If not, Geralt had to be careful. Bloodsuckers were always tricky, even more so when they were intelligent. Clever little things had the habits of giving him the slip.

Speaking of which, 

“So, I heard you were quite the busy bee, Geralt.” Jaskier joined them, already at his third cup of ale. “A merchant over there told me the story of how you dragged Lester out in the night and beat him under the moon. A new hobby of yours?”

Ensel didn’t stick around, offering instead to go dig up harry himself. Geralt was about to join him, preferring the company of the dead, when Jaskier pulled at the hem of his sleeve. 

“Don’t ignore me. You’re the one who brought me here Geralt, not the other way around. Sit down and converse with me.” 

“Jaskier, if you want to get yourself rid of that debt before your old age, let me work.” 

“Yes, yes, so you keep telling me, but this won’t take long.” 

Geralt sat down, eyeing the bard tiredly. “What is it?” 

“I’m just curious.”

The witcher sighed. “About?” 

Whacking Jaskier unconscious in the middle of the day, just to avoid a conversation seemed a bit much, even for Geralt. But definitely justifiable if push came to shove.

“What did Lester do to deserve this beating? I mean, don’t get me wrong, the man clearly had anger issues- he almost broke my ribs just for looking at his wife-” 

And for that, Geralt should have broken all his bones in return. Pity he didn't know the extent of Jaskier's injuries then. “Got in my way.” 

“In his own house?” Jaskier’s brows rose.

“Yes.”

He hummed, thoughtful for a moment. “And without the bullshit, now, Geralt?” The witcher could only imagine the kind of songs this particular tale would birth. Geralt of Rivia, the white wolf, avenging Jaskier’s dignity- “Look if this is about what he did to me..” The bard paused, glancing up in amusement, waiting-

Geralt settled this the only way he could.

“You should know better than to confuse reality with your ballads, Jaskier. This isn’t some fairy tale in which everyone revolves around you. The sooner you understand this, the better it’ll be- for both of us.” 

By pushing him away.

“Right. Thank you.” 

“For what?” Geralt snapped, already regretting his question. 

“For reminding me why we didn’t do civil conversations. Now if you’ll excuse me,” He got up, straitening his clothing, “I have ladies to woo.” 

And he, a monster to hunt.

x

  
“Almost there, Master Witcher!” 

Geralt grunted between shovels of dirt. “Shut up, Ensel. I have eyes, just like you.” 

Harry’s grave was unnecessarily hollowed. Dig far into the ground and covered with heavy rocks. His corpse was like Lester's, give or take a few weeks of rotting. Drained of its blood, skin white and a single bite on the neck. The killings had started only a month ago, meaning that something had traveled here. Either it was hiding in the Willow, as the villagers claimed, or-

"Any visitors in town recently?” Geralt questioned. 

“Except for merchants, only you.” 

This job was going to be a hassle. 

“Take me to where he was found.” 

x

_“So what do you want me to do about it- kill the Baron? I won’t. Not for money and certainly not for your relationship.”_

_“Don’t be so dramatic, Witcher. If I wanted an assassin, I would’ve hired a less noticeable one.”_

_Gerald crossed his arms. “What then?”_

x

When he came back to the inn, the sun had already set. The ambiance was unusually festive, considering the loss the town had just suffered. Jaskier had one foot on a chair, hands working smugly on his lute and voice ringing loud in the room. The cheers and shouts of drunken men following along clumsily. 

It was the first time in months Geralt had heard him sing for a crowd. A familiar sight he didn’t know he had missed until now. After a particularly filthy song, Jaskier stumbled next to him, cheeks flushed, grinning. “You smell like death.” He said, wrinkling his nose.

“You would too if you had spent the day digging up graves.”

“I’d rather sing and drink to my heart’s content if you don’t mind.” The bard said, arrogance dripping from his tone.

“Which is why you ran out of coins and ended dirt poor on the street.” Geralt hummed, glancing at the ale in Jaskier’s hand. “Just try not to drown in your vomit this time.” 

As if provoked, Jaskier emptied his cup in one single gulp then slammed it against the table proudly. “Keep your motherly concerns for someone who cares, Geralt.”

Jaskier had changed so drastically- always challenging, always mocking. Geralt didn’t know how to deal with him at all. In the past, a simple punch in the balls would have wiped the grin from his face, but now? Geralt feared it would only widen it. 

“Drown then.” He grunted, already feeling his veins twitch in irritation. Any more and the witcher wouldn’t be above sewing Jaskier’s mouth shut.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and ordered another cup. “So this vampire- figured out what it is?” 

“More or less.”

“Well?” He paused, glancing at the witcher, waiting. “Aren’t you going to share with the class?”

“No.”

“Geralt, look- we both know you didn’t need my help out there-”

“How did you get involved with Vess?” The witcher asked, ignoring the bard. It had been toying in his mind for a while now. The bard was known to attract problems, but never the deadly kind- Well, always the deadly kind, but not like this.

“Oh, so now you feel chatty?” Jaskier scoffed. 

“You’re the one of wanted to have a civil talk. This is it.”

“No, this is invasive- and none of your business, must I remind you.” 

Geralt turned to Jaskier, glaring. “Don’t make me ask again.” 

“Then don’t-”

He pulled the bard by the collar in a quick jerk, unbothered as the delicate fabric almost ripped. 

“Jaskier-” He growled. “It’s your life we’re talking about.”

Instead of an answer, the bard squirmed. He shoved and pulled weakly- attempting to spite rather than escape. Unimpressed, Geralt twisted the shirt until it clenched around Jaskier's throat. Bitting painfully at his pale skin.

The bard stilled. “Geralt, unhand me this m-moment.” His words came out labored and muffled- 

“Speak.” Geralt ordered.

After a long moment of pointless struggles, and petty insults, Jaskier gave up. “Fine, y-you thug!" The witcher released him. "The baron needed a bard for his daughter’s seventeenth birthday. The one he booked died of syphilis a week before the ball. He offered a fortune, too."

“But you took more than he offered.” Geralt sighed. Seventeen was young, even for Jaskier. Geralt wasn’t one to judge but the bard had really messed up this time. “Now I get why Vess wants your head.”

“Believe what you will, I’m done speaking of it. Now your turn. Tell me about this vampire.”

“A Bruxa.” Geralt said. “There was a shift in the dirt where Harry was killed. Cause by an aerial disruption. Strong and fast, by the looks of it.” 

“And in English, now?” 

“It’s a vampire, Jaskier. Use your imagination. Pointy fangs, deadly claws, can take on the appearance of a human at will-”

Jaskier glanced around in worry. “Is the vampire here?” He whispered. 

“I doubt it. They usually tend to avoid crowds.”

“I’m going to need more than empty beliefs to feel safe, Geralt-”

“Bruxae are females. Keep away from any and you’ll be fine.”

Jaskier gaped in absolute horror. Then came the very long, and tedious explanation as to why he couldn't do so without dying. Geralt stopped paying attention after the words 'manhood' and 'rot'. 

“How good are your private performances, bard?” A man asked, cutting Jaskier's monologue short, and slouching against the table seductively.

Geralt recognized him from back at the tavern, earlier today. He had stuck to Jaskier's side like a ghoul following the scent of a corpse. 

A really starving one, it seemed, since he followed the bard still. 

Jaskier smiled, his whole face brightening up under Geralt's puzzled gaze. He leaned in and whispered hotly into the man's ears, “Why don’t you wait for me upstairs and find out?”

Jaskier’s shamelessness suddenly reached a new peak. The groupie threw Geralt a smug smile before heading upstairs. The witcher had to keep his hands on the table not the reach for his sword and shove it into the man's back. 

People already called him the butcher, what was one more body to the count? 

“Duty calls, it would seem.” The bard said, finishing up his ale in haste. 

“He’s trying to bed you, Jaskier.” Geralt snapped. 

“Stop fussing, he’s just some bored merchant looking for a good time. I’ll sing him a few songs, throw some winks here and there and hopefully earn myself a generous tip before taking my leave.”

“Careful Bard, that sounds a lot like whoring yourself.”

Words were a funny thing. No matter how hard Geralt tried, he always ended up saying the wrong ones. As if his mouth developed a mind of his own every time emotions got involved. Jaskier had no such problem, 

“Fuck you, Geralt.” 

His words were always honest. He grabbed his lute- rather angrily- and followed the man upstairs. The witcher spent the next hour drinking in silence until the scent of blood put a stop to his brooding. Strong and fresh inside the inn, recently spilled-

_Any visitors in town recently?_

Geralt glanced up at the stairs

_Except for merchants, only you._

_Fuck-_

Jaskier. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeeees I am dragging this- but the wait's almost over- I promise!
> 
> Thanks for all your beautiful comments and kudos! keep em coming, they make me happy :D 
> 
> Btw for those interested- I added a cover for the fic (in chapter 1)  
> Please go see my masterpiece
> 
> Source for Jaskier's poem:  
> The Giaour [Unquenched, unquenchable]  
> George Gordon Byron - 1788-1824


	4. Chapter 4

Geralt kicked the door so hard, it flew across the room. Jaskier laid on the bed, shirt disheveled and blood dripping down his chest. For a moment, Geralt though he had been too late. 

Then he heard him. "What took y-you so long?" 

He was alive.

“You really shouldn’t have done that.” Geralt growled, raising his sword at the merchant. The Bruxa moved away from Jaskier, lowering the dagger it held against his own wrist. Whatever it planned to do, the witcher was putting an end to it. 

“He’s mine.” The merchant spat, skin morphing into his real form. Claws replaced his nails, fangs growing in length. “He sang for me in the Willow. I heard-”

Geralt glared at Jaskier, ‘I told you so’ written all over his face. In all his travels, the witcher had never set eyes upon a male Bruxa. They were stories made up by mothers to frightened their sons. Yet one song later and Jaskier had managed to turn the myth into reality. Or in this case, the myth into a total nightmare. 

“He sings for everyone, whether drunkards or cows in a field. I assure you, there’s nothing special about it.” 

The Bruxa shook its head, mouth wide, showing his yellow teeth proudly. “And that’s where you’re wrong, Witcher. You’ll understand once I claim him against your corpse. You’ll hear his song then.” 

“No-no, no, no, stay away!” Jaskier moaned weakly as the merchant faced him, eyes red and glowing. “Geralt-”

The witcher didn’t wait for the Bruxa to attack. Instead, he raised his hand up and sent it crashing against the wall with his sign. Geralt pulled Jaskier up and pushed him toward the door. 

“Get out of here.” 

Jaskier took one step before slipping in his own blood and falling headfirst into the ground. Loud, useless and as graceful as a rock. Which raised a few questions as to how he had managed to survive for so long. 

“He’s not going anywhere, never again, not until he sees the world the way I do-” The merchant said.

“Geralt!” Jaskier shouted, crawling to him and gripping at his leg tightly. “Do something-” 

The witcher snapped. “I will, once you stop grasping at my leg like a lost child!” 

The bard let go with trembling hands, retreating further away. At this rate, with all the blood he had lost and was loosing still, it wouldn’t be long before Jaskier passed out. The witcher needed to deal with this quickly and get him to a doctor. 

Geralt grunted and launched himself at the Bruxa, swinging his silver sword swiftly. His movements were fast but calculated. He avoided swinging at the walls or furniture, in case his sword stayed stuck. An error that would definitely mean their deaths. The vampire moved like lightning; furious and clawing at the air. More than once did its hits grazed at the witcher. 

  
“Geralt- look out!” Jaskier said, but too late for Geralt to evade a particularly vicious kick. He flew back, collapsing against the bed in a loud thud, dropping his sword in his fall. The Bruxa was on him before he could blink. 

It raised its hand ready to strike but, to Geralt's surprise, the hit never came. The merchant paused, glancing behind in fury. Jaskier had managed to stab the vampire with its discarded dagger. Of all the places to hit, the bard chose to shove the dagger deep into its shoulder. Not the head- or the heart, no. The fucking shoulder. While it didn’t do any real damage, it gave Geralt enough time to roll away and grab his sword.

He cut its head clean in one single swing. Jaskier glanced up, frightened, before collapsing on the ground.

x

  
“You said, female,” Jaskier uttered as he woke up. 

Geralt sat next to the bed, arms crossed and clothes still covered in the bard's blood. He had nursed the bard’s wound till morning, with the help of the town’s healer. While the bite wasn’t fatal, the blood loss would’ve been if Geralt had failed to arrive when he did. Jaskier would be weak for a few days, but he’d survive. 

“Even witchers get it wrong sometimes.” 

“You also said they avoided crowds.” 

“For my defense, he did request a private show.” 

Jaskier laughed softly, turning to his side. “One that’ll scar my mind forever, I’m afraid. At least he had the decency to wait till I finished my last song before biting at my throat like a starved beast. A true fan of my work.”

“How do you feel?”

“Like a bull ran over me. My whole body’s aching and my neck feels as if it’s on fire- is it supposed to feel like that?”

“A Bruxa’s bite injects a toxin into the bloodstream to prevent preys from panicking.” Geralt paused, already cringing at the awkwardness of the conversation. “You may feel a bit-” He gestured vaguely. “tender for a while?”

“Tender?” He snorted. “More like terrified. Forever. I knew I was dying, I could feel its fangs piercing my skin. Hear it swallowed my blood, but it felt so good, I couldn't lift a finger to stop it-” 

“Yeah, that’s the toxin’s doing.” Which was why they were so dangerous. “Consider yourself lucky you had a witcher at hand.” 

Just to counter the effects of their bites, witchers had to drink countless potions. And that was only one of the Bruxae's many abilities. They were fortunate it hadn’t been a powerful one. 

“I don’t feel lucky. I feel drained. All that and he didn’t even pay me. How’s that for whoring, huh?” 

Geralt sighed. “Look, about that, I’m-”

Jaskier sat back, eyes cold. “I don’t need cheap apologies. Geralt.” 

The witcher frowned. “What, then?”

How else was he supposed to apologize if Jaskier didn’t let him? Whether it was for the dragon hunt, or what he said at the inn, or any other times Geralt had hurt the bard, he was sorry. 

“Nothing. We’re not friends, remember? You don’t owe me anything, and I’m just here to pay back my debt- that’s all. Which reminds me- I saved your life.”

“Jaskier-” The witcher’s mind went blank at the ridiculous affirmation. “What?”

“Don’t look so shocked- we both know you would’ve been dead meat had I not wounded the vampire fatally. You might’ve administered the final blow, but I did all the work. We’re definitely splitting that bounty.”

“Crawling about and sneaking one blow isn’t considered all the work, Jaskier.”

“Oh shut up, I was awesome.”

The Bruxa could’ve killed him so many times but it didn't. Whether it was by pure luck, or not, the fact that Jaskier had managed to survive was a miracle on its own.

“You were alright.”

  
x

  
“You saved us, Master Jaskier!”  
  
The tavern was packed with grateful villagers, drinking and eating their fills while listening to Jaskier’s tale about the fight. The way he told it, without his timely intervention, the vampire would’ve destroyed the whole continent. As if a dagger to the back had made him an eternal hero.

Geralt didn’t bother correcting him. All this noise was already making his head turned and he wasn't even the object of all the excitement. He was glad to drink alone and in peace.

“You’re going to let him steal all your glory?” Ensel asked. 

So much for his peace. 

“No harm in letting him have his fun.” And, there wasn’t really any glory in pest control. 

“Aye, but without you, the town could’ve been slaughtered. I don’t know how we’re ever going to thank you-”

“Your coins were thanks enough.”

The man laughed loudly, raising his cup in Geralt’s direction. “In that case, to you, Geralt of Rivia. May you stay safe in your travels.”

Safe wasn’t what one expected in the business of monsters slaying, unfortunately. Geralt raised his ale nonetheless and smiled. The evening passed rather quickly after that. Jaskier sang about a dozen songs before finally sitting down. Bringing with him half the ladies in the room. 

_Flies and shit._ Geralt scoffed silently. 

Lester’s widow was all over Jaskier. Whispering filthy promises in his ear and dragging her hands along his thigh, very openly, beneath the table. Even from across the room Geralt could tell she was fully determined to have Jaskier’s in her bed by the end of the night. It was none of his business, and any other day, he would’ve looked away, but something in the bard caught his attention. Jaskier’s complexion was pale as a sheet and his fingers drummed on the table, nervously. When their eyes met, the witcher raised a questioning brow. 

The bard smiled smugly and gestured the widow with his head like he usually did when he felt proud of his catch. Yet, this time, his whole demeanor seemed forced, his smile crisp and uncomfortable. 

Soon, the bard excused himself and headed outside. Geralt followed.

“Is everything alright?” 

Jaskier leaned against the wall, panting. “Yes, I was simply in need of fresh air. It’s like an oven in there.” He said, fanning himself. 

It wasn’t. The night had cooled the tavern and chased away the lingering heat of the day. While it was warm still, the temperature was very bearable. 

“You haven’t fully recovered yet. You shouldn’t be moving around that much, let alone entertained a whole crowd.” 

“Yes, dad.” He snorted. 

Geralt glared, eyeing his bandage. “How do you feel?”

Jaskier shrugged. “Itching? Like I want to tear my skin apart with my nails. Then there’s this noise that keeps hammering inside my skull-”

The bard was obviously exaggerating. “Go rest, you’ll be fine in a few days.” 

Jaskier nodded slowly. “Yeah, maybe.” 

  
x

  
“Does this bread taste weird to you?” Jaskier asked.

“It tastes like bread, Jaskier. Stop being difficult.” 

It had been a week since they had left Svelt and while Jaskier’s wound had healed, his temper worsened. Something was putting him on edge, but Geralt couldn’t figure out what. His body was always in movement, always twitching, even when the bard was trying to get some rest. While he never said a word about it, Geralt wasn’t blind. A simple glance at Jaskier was enough to tell that something was wrong.

The bard chewed slowly, with a scowl on his face. “Nope, it’s awful.” 

Geralt watched as the piece of bread flew across a few paces of grass and right into the stream. 

“Nice throw.” 

“It was, wasn’t it?” He grinned. “Perhaps I should find a career in bread throwing- If such sport even exists.” 

Jaskier tried munching on berries and dried meat, but every bite he took seemed like an effort. He swallowed tightly and with displeasure. 

“The food’s not up to your standards, anymore?” The witcher asked.

Jaskier snapped. “If I can even call it food. I’m hungry. We haven’t had a decent meal in days. When’s the next town?”   
  
“About half a day-”

“Good, let’s go.” He said, jumping to his feet.

“Sit down.” Geralt said.

“No!” He shouted. “If I stay one more minute, eating this bland food, gazing at this boring scenery, I’ll go mad, Geralt.” 

The witcher frowned. The bard was picky, but never toward the food. He of all people knew how rare fresh goods were on the road. 

Geralt gazed at the stream in annoyance. "Would fish do?"

"Fish? Unless it jumps out of the water and into the cooking pot, I don't see how that's possible. You're shit at fishing." 

He glared at Jaskier, shaking his head in disbelief. “Then you go fish it yourself, or better- keep that mouth of yours shut until we get to the damn town. I’m tired of your complaints Jaskier, this isn’t a vacation.”

“Don’t tell me to shut up! If you’re not happy-” He grabbed his bag, “about my complaints-” started shoving his belongings inside “you can” he reached for a belt still lying on the ground, “go fuck your- bloody hell!” Jaskier winced, letting go of the belt. 

His skin sizzled where the buckle had grazed. Thin white smoke releasing from the wound, as if it was burning. Geralt froze. Jaskier froze. They both stared at the hand in confusion. 

The witcher was the first to speak. “Tell me that’s not silver.” 

Jaskier took a few steps back. “That n-never happened before.” 

Geralt was on him so fast, the bard stumbled in shock. He reached for his wrist but Jaskier ducked and started running in the opposite direction. 

“Show me your fucking wound,” Geralt called, dashing after him. 

“So you finally have a reason to strangle me to death? Screw you, Geralt!” 

It took less than a minute for Geralt to have Jaskier pinned against the ground. “I’m not going to hurt you, just stay still.” When Jaskier didn’t, Geralt grabbed his hand and squeezed. 

“That hurts!” The bard yelled.

“Yeah, I lied. Now if you don’t want me to do it again, stop squirming.” 

The bard stilled slowly. Half the skin on his hand had melted, yet the wound was already healing. At a rate that shouldn’t be possible, not for humans. 

Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. 

Geralt lowered Jaskier’s collar. Only two red dots remained of the bite, faint, but still there. He ran his thumb against the skin and pushed, checking for anything odd. Jaskier’s reaction was immediate. He gasped and grabbed at Geralt’s arm with both his hands. His hold was unusually strong, like iron cuffs clasping shut.

“Jaskier?” He called. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Jaskier was panting, face flushed, his whole body shaking under the witcher. “Geralt-” He whimpered. “I can’t breathe-” 

Thinking he was hurting him, Geralt moved away, removing the pressure on Jaskier’s chest. An action he regretted dearly, since a moment after, Jaskier tackled him.

x

_"Bring him to me, safe.”_

_“So that’s it- that’s your great plan?” Geralt scoffed. “Hide Jaskier in this castle for the rest of his life? The Baron will still find him.”_

_“I promise you that once he’s here, no one will dare to threaten his life, ever again.” The Countess said._

_“Then, get one of your mercenaries to do it. If they were able to bring me here, Jaskier won’t be a problem.”_

_He turned around,_

_“My men, he doesn’t trust, but you? You might not consider him your friend, Witcher, but to him, you’re the closest thing he has to a family. He’d follow you to the gates of hell if you so much as ask.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “If you walk away, and he dies, would you be able to live with that?”_

_Dammit._

x

  
The pain was the first thing that hit him. Dull and wispy, like little needles prickling at his throat. Then, it became something else. Hot, and burning along his flesh, inside his veins, traveling across his whole body, in an instant. 

Bruxae's toxin.

“Jaskier?” He called, voice wavering. 

The bard bit harder, as if afraid the witcher would pull away. It was primitive and hungry, and Geralt couldn’t prevent a low hum from escaping his lips. He could feel his control draining further away after each sip. 

He grabbed Jaskier by the jaw and tear him away harshly. The bard didn't struggle as Geralt held him in place to examine his mouth. He was in a daze, eyes fixed on the witcher's throat, blood dripping from his mouth in a rather...lewd way. 

Small fangs had grown in place of his canines.

“Fuck.”

This couldn't be happening. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep.  
> Vampire Jaskier 
> 
> Thanks again for all the love :D 
> 
> (Also, English isn't my native language so if something sounds weird, please tell me. I'll fix it)
> 
> Drop them comments and kudos down below


	5. Chapter 5

The room was completely silent. The farmer stared at Geralt, wide eyes, mouth gaping, like a fish out of the water. A piece of potato fell from his mouth. 

"Hello?" He said, voice shaking 

“Do you have a basement?” The witcher growled, already feeling his patience running out. 

He had a rough day.

The man flinched in fear, eyes shifting at Geralt’s wound. “What happened to your neck?” 

“Basement! You have one or not?”

“Y-yes, Witcher, but what is it to you?”

Geralt threw him a small purse of coins. “I need to use it. Now.”

The man stumbled away from the table and guided him to the trapdoor in the back. The basement was no bigger than a closet, with only enough space to stack ale and meat. Cramped but perfectly acceptable for what he had in mind. 

“What’s in there?” The farmer asked, gesturing the package Geralt was dragging behind him; wrapped in a blanket, tied with thick ropes and in a shape eerily close to the one of a human body.

“You don’t wanna know, believe me. I’ll pay you twice that much once I come back.” He threw the said package into the basement and sealed the exit with a magic barrier. “Don’t go near the door, no matter what you hear.” 

The farmer glanced at the witcher in pure horror. 

  
The nearest town was half a day away from riding. A trip that would usually take between 5 to 7 hours. Geralt made it in 3, working Roach until the poor mare almost collapsed from exhaustion. The witcher would make sure to give her a nice treat once this particular situation settled. A vacation, even. But for now, she had to endure. 

Geralt stormed into the tavern. “Is there a mage in this town?” 

The villagers all stared at him in confusion. 

“A healer is what you need, Witcher.” 

A man behind the counter chuckled. “We have an old witch who works as the town herbalist. As for your wound-”

“I’m fine. This witch, where does she live?” The witcher questioned.

“The red house near the lake. But I must warn you, she’s a bit of an eccentric. Might not find what you’re looking for.” 

That, Geralt was sure of. At this point, even an intervention from the gods themselves wouldn’t be able to fix this mess. But he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try. 

The witcher didn’t knock. Knocking was for those who had time. He had none. Instead, he barged into the small house, scanning the rooms for any sign of the witch. 

“Witcher.” An old lady greeted, sitting next to the window, a fat cat on her lapse. “We don’t see your kind often around here.”

“Witch.”

She chuckled and approached him. “Nasty wound on your neck- Bruxa?”

“How can you tell?” He asked, frowning.

“One had been roaming around for quite a while now. But seeing as it crossed your path, I supposed it won’t be bothering us anymore?” 

More or less. 

“I need your help. It’s urgent.”

“Yes, I can see that.” She smiled. “So, tell me, Witcher, how may I assist you?” 

  
x

  
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather grab that sword of yours?” The witch asked, eyeing the trapdoor with mistrust. 

Geralt armed himself with a silver brass knuckle. While his sword had always been his weapon of choice when dealing with monsters, he’d rather not use it. Not for this particular one. 

“I can handle him.” He said, taking a deep breath. 

“Like you handled him before?”

“I knocked him out and carried him here, didn’t I?” 

“Not before he took a bite out of you.” She scoffed. 

And what a bite he had taken. Geralt could still feel the sharp fangs inside his neck, a warm tongue dragging along his skin- as if they were there still. This time, he'd be ready. 

The floor shook beneath their feet, followed by the sound of barrels of ale smashing into pieces. The witch took a few steps back. “I assume you won’t need my help with that?”

As soon as Geralt lifted the magic barrier, the trapdoor crashed open. Pale hands appeared on the edge of the door, nails scratching against the wood. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt called. “I just want to talk.” 

Jaskier didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stared at them in silence, his eyes now appearing slightly crimson. Geralt could feel the hunger in his gaze as if the bard was seconds away from slashing their throats open and bathe in their blood. It wasn’t the Jaskier he knew anymore-

“Like you wanted to talk, back in the forest? Yeah right. Drop the weapon and then we’ll talk, Geralt.” 

-alright, it definitely was the Jaskier he knew. Perhaps just a tad deadlier. 

“You know I can’t do that.” Geralt said. 

The bard came out of the basement, scowling. His eyes immediately shifted on the witch next to Geralt. “What’s this, reinforcement?” 

“Jaskier-”

“Screw you!” He spat. “You said it wasn’t a sickness, you said- I couldn’t get infected by it!” 

The witcher had been wrong about so many things. “How the hell was I to know that of all the people in the continent, you would be the exception? Next time, don’t fucking sing to monsters.” 

“Oh, so now this is my fault?” 

“Yes!” 

“See this is your problem Geralt. That-” He gestured the witcher’s whole face. “right there is why people hate you. That righteous look of yours, plastered all over your face, as if you’re the paragon of reason and knowledge. You’re just full of shit!"

Even in such dire circumstances, Jaskier's boldness knew no bound.

“And you think you’re without faults? If you hadn’t throw yourself at the Bruxa like a bitch in heat, none of this would’ve happened.”

Fuck. 

Every time it concerned Jaskier, Geralt lost his cool. He'd speak without thinking, like a brainless caveman, only capable of dumb taunts. 

Jaskier paused as if slapped. Blinking slowly. “A what?” 

“You’re not yourself right now, Jaskier. Calm down and we’ll-”

“No, no. Don’t backtrack now. A what, Geralt?”

The bard was unbeatable when it came to words. 

But fighting? “Go wait outside, Witch.” That, Geralt could win.

The sooner they'd get this out of their systems, the quicker Geralt could have him examined by the witch. That was his only priority right now. 

When she left, Jaskier smirked. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to punch that smugness off your face,” He said, eyes turning fully red. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

He had managed to caught Geralt off guard once, it wouldn't happen a second time. 

Geralt hummed, letting go of his brass knuckle. “Not nearly as much as you think.” He wouldn't need silver for this.

As soon as the weapon touched the ground, Jaskier leaped forward, fists swinging. Whatever ailed the bard made him fast- and strong. His movements reminded Geralt of an angry kitten. All spite, no technique, but with the strength of ten men. While his blows were strong enough to send the furniture flying, they were easily avoidable. 

The witcher didn’t hold back his punches. He made sure Jaskier felt the full extent of his fists colliding against his jaw, side, and back. Soon the bard was out of breath and leaning against the wall.

"Are you done?" The witcher asked

As if his fury renewed, Jaskier began throwing random objects at Geralt. Anything he could get his hands on, from chairs, plates, to spoons even. It was desperate and messy. To riled Geralt up rather than wound him. That's when the witcher decided it was time to put a stop to their scuffle. He maneuvered Jaskier’s into an arm lock and grabbed him by the jaw to keep him from squirming. 

He growled into his ear. “I can do this all day.” 

Jaskier took a deep breath before jolting furiously. “Let me go!” 

Geralt kept him in place. “Don’t make me break your bones.” He warned. 

Jaskier became livid. He managed to break his head loose from the hold and bit into Geralt's hand, right between his thumb and index. The bard took one swallow before spitting the blood right out, grabbing at his own throat in pain. 

Geralt released him. “That’s diluted black blood. Next time you try something like this, I’ll make sure you get the taste of a full dose.” 

The witcher had calculated the dose himself, and with great care. It wouldn’t be strong enough to kill Jaskier, but enough to have him rolling on the floor in agony. At the time, it seemed like a good idea.

But now that he witnessed the real thing, not so much.

Jaskier slammed his fist against the ground and yelled, voice raw and shaking, “I hate you!” Tears gathered in the corner of his eyes. “Just this once, Geralt-” He winced. “Would it have killed you to let me have my way? ”

Geralt frowned. “Yes?” 

“I’m not talking about this stupid fight, you cock!” He glared. “Pick up your sword.”

“Jaskier, I know what you're trying to do. And the answer is no.” 

No, he wouldn't kill him. No matter what.

“You don’t get it, Geralt. The only thing I want right now is to rip your throat open and feel your blood running against my tongue!”

“That’s not you talking-”

“And when I’m done with you,” He continued, ignoring Geralt’s plea. “I’ll go after the witch, and then the farmer. In that exact order. Why? Because I can smell the sweat on the farmer’s skin from here and it disgusts me! But right now, I’m so hungry that I don’t even think I’d care. So please-” Jaskier got up on shaky legs. “do the right thing.”

The witcher punched him so hard in the stomach, Jaskier bent in two, wheezing.

“When you’re done with me?” Geralt asked, kneeling next to the bard, raising his head up by the hair. “Since when do you think yourself so mighty?”

“I d-did this.” He whispered, gazing at the witcher's neck, now covered in bandages. "And I'll do worse if you don't kill me now. Please Geralt, I can't hold it in much longer-" 

The wound had only been superficial. Too shallow to cause any real damage, but deep enough for the toxin to spread. Geralt would've been very dead had he not had the spontaneous reflex of pulling Jaskier away when he did. Any longer and the toxin would've rendered him too docile to resist. 

So no, Jaskier hadn't caused this. At all. If anything, Geralt's own blindness had. The signs were obvious yet he had chosen to ignore every single one of them. Perhaps if he had acted sooner, none of this would be happening.

“No, I’m done listening to your nonsense. We both know you’re not the self-sacrificing type, Jaskier. You’re too much of a coward for that. So shut up, and let me fix this.”

 _Somehow._

“Also,” He glanced at the now destroyed furniture. “I’m adding this to your debt.”

  
x

  
“Aren’t you a feisty little poppet.” The witch said. 

Jaskier sat, tied up to a chair, as the witch examined him. While the rope was sturdy and thick, Geralt had no doubt the bard could break free if he really wanted to. 

"Call me poppet one more time..." The bard threatened but made no move to leave. Instead, he twitched against his restraints, gazing at the ground stubbornly. 

"You really didn't hold back." She said, this time directed at Geralt. "Good thing he heals fast." The witch took a step back. “It’s like I thought. A curse. A nasty one too.” 

Of course, it was. As if things couldn't be simple for once.

Jaskier flinched. “Can you lift it?” 

“Nope.” 

“Then what’s your purpose, exactly?” He asked, already getting up. 

Geralt placed his hand on his shoulder and squeezed until Jaskier stopped moving completely. The bard's fists tightened, nails biting into his palm. The witcher suspected it wouldn't be long before he snapped. They definitely had to hurry this along. 

The witch reached for something in her bag. “I’m not a curse lifter. Never was. But I do know a few things about divination.” 

“Unless you can divine us a cure-” Geralt sighed.

“Not a cure, but a curse lifter.” 

She took out a small pouch filled with herbs and smiled. They watched as she threw the pouch into the fireplace, turning the flames green. She sat in front of the fire and inhaled the smoke, eyes rolling back.

Jaskier lifted his brow in confusion, jumping slightly when the flames grew brighter. 

“I smell something.” She said.

“Can you see something too? I reckon that’d be more helpful.” Jaskier spat. 

She carried on, “Sweet, like the scent of a breeze traveling across a field of flowers..or trees? Trees with flowers? I definitely smell wood in there- ah, lilac!” 

_Shit._

“There’s another smell, similar to that of a green apple, but softer...cranberries? no...”

“Gooseberries?” Geralt groaned.

“Ah, yes, that’s it. Lilac and Gooseberries.”

“Right. And that helps me, how?” The bard asked

It was Geralt who answered him. “The curse lifter...it's Yennefer.” 

Jaskier froze, rolling his eyes. “Fuck me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yen :D 
> 
> I hope yall like this chapter! I know there's not a lot of Jaskier/Geralt yet, but I did say slow burn...
> 
> <3


	6. Chapter 6

“He’ll need blood.”

Up until this point, Geralt hadn’t thought about that. At all. Yeah, he understood that Jaskier was under some sort of curse. Yes, it was bad and very annoying. But usually, those kinds of dire situations ended up resolving themselves on their own. 

“Hum, right.” 

“Human blood.”

Jaskier stared at them in silence. Geralt could tell this was as uncomfortable for the bard than it was for him. 

“Okay.” He answered after a moment. Blood. Human. They could manage.

Somehow. 

The witch added, “Regularly, Witcher. Or he might die before you even get to this sorceress of yours.”

As if Jaskier would let himself starve.

“It would help if you could give us the location of the said sorceress.” Geralt supplied, already feeling the beginning of a headache.

“I can’t smell a location.”

“But you can smell a person you never met?” Jaskier asked, arrogantly. 

She turned around, smiling. “Yes, just as clearly as I can smell you, right now. Fear and-” She took a deep breath. “thirst?”

Jaskier’s eyes were like two round rubies. “Come closer and I’ll show you how thirsty.” He said, pulling against the restraints slowly. 

Geralt sighed. “Jaskier.” He warned. “Leave the witch alone. She’s trying to help.” 

He scoffed. “Help? Yennefer will rather kill me than cure me, Geralt, and you know this.” 

“Weren’t you the one who, only moments ago was begging for death?” 

“Yeah, well, someone punched me in the guts and said no.”

And he’d do it again in a heartbeat. He was, after all, here to make sure Jaskier didn’t suffer an early demise. 

“What more do you know about this curse?” Geralt asked, turning to the witch.

The witch shrugged. “It’s old, that much I can tell. Obviously some sort of blood curse too, but further than that, you’ll have to ask an expert.

“Will he-” Geralt paused. “Will he turn into a Bruxa?” 

Jaskier gaped. 

“What kind of stories have you been reading, Witcher? One can’t change species at will.” The witch said.

“No, but they can mutate.”

“Aye, but he hasn’t exhibited any changes except the fangs and eyes. It’s unlikely it will progress further than that.”

But with their luck-

“Please tell me my skin’s not going to wrinkle like that merchant-” He glanced at Geralt. 

“That’d be the least of your worries, Jaskier.” 

He could end up losing his humanity. 

x

Roach walked ahead in a hurried pace, pulling Geralt forward in her haste. 

“What’s her problem?” Jaskier asked. 

“Roach can sense the change in you. She’s not comfortable around-” _Monsters_. “Anything not- fully human.” 

“Well, screw you too, horse.” 

Jaskier had managed to hold it together since they had parted ways with the witch, but even though the bard hid behind a smile, Geralt could feel his anguish through his words. 

Geralt shrugged. “Don’t blame Roach. She managed to survive that long for a reason.”

“Just when I thought we were finally bonding. Well, at least I find comfort in knowing that Roach finds me threatening. If a horse who has seen thousands of beasts, fears me, I have no more reasons to be afraid of the Baron." 

Right, the Baron. Geralt had been so busy fussing over Jaskier that he had forgotten why he was here in the first place. Not that he could bring the bard to Countess de Stael now. Jaskier would tear her throat apart in an instant. 

“You’re cursed, Jaskier, not immortal.”

“Yeah, but as I am now, I’m sure I'd be a tad harder to kill.” 

Not for a man like Baron Vess. He had both the resources and determination to kill Jaskier if he wanted to, vampire or human. 

“I could kill you with one hand.” He said. 

“Oh, I’d like to see you try, Geralt. Really.” 

“Don’t tempt me.” 

Something in Jaskier's eyes shifted. The bard raised a brow before saying, rather playfully. “Why, think I couldn’t handle you?” 

His tone was teasing and light, as if meant for maidens he intended to woo. Geralt wasn't bothered by it, at all. 

“Curse or not, y-you’re centuries away from handling m-me, Bard.” 

And that wasn't him, fumbling around with his words. 

"If you say so, Geralt." Jaskier chuckled. 

“Have you tried reasoning with the Baron?” He asked, after a moment, feeling in dire need of a subject change. 

“What could I possibly say to a man that cuts off the balls of his enemies for fun? Please, Ripper, spare my renowned jewels? No, I’d be seeking my death.”

That much was very true. Geralt had once witnessed from himself the ravages of the baron. Corpse without balls, or cocks, left naked on the road, for all to see. They served at warnings, to dissuade people from ever crossing him. Yet Jaskier hadn't heeded those warnings. 

“And the removal of those said renowned jewels.” Geralt added.

“Yes, and that. A great loss to the continent, I’m afraid. ” 

Geralt frowned. “A loss implies value.”

Jaskier gaped. “Are you seriously accusing my balls of being- worthless? I’ll have you know that they’ve been worshipped numerous times by la creme de la creme of the aristocracy-"

“Like by Countess de Stael?” Geralt asked, his words quick and unintentional. 

“Yes, especially by Mar-” The bard paused. “Wait. How do you know about her?” 

_Shit._

“I’m not so old that I can’t recall simple conversations, Jaskier. You mentioned her. A lot.” About a hundred times. But not once since Geralt had rescued him from the brothel. Which was a bit odd, considering she was, after all, Jaskier's beloved muse. 

“No, no, I know, but usually, you don’t pay attention to a single thing I say. I’m not even sure you know what my first name is-” 

“Julian.” The witcher blurted out. Jaskier stopped dead in his track. “That’s your name, is it not?” Geralt was pretty sure that’s what Jaskier had said, back at the Dragon’s hunt. 

“Yeah, it is. I’m just- surprised you remembered.” 

“Why wouldn’t I remember...your name?”

“Oh I don’t know Geralt, why would you?” Jaskier questioned, glaring.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The bard shrugged. “Nothing.” But the look in his eyes said otherwise. They walked for a moment in silence, before he added, “My mother calls me Julian. Or Jules. Sometimes. Well, when I say sometimes...I mean only when she’s in one of her-” He paused, gesturing with his hands. “moods-”

“Is there a point to all this?” 

“Please don’t call me either of those names. Ever. It’d get very weird, very quickly.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Right.” He said, in a voice oddly soft voice. “Of course not.” 

Geralt turned around, facing the bard. “Out with it, Jaskier. If you’re still mad about the curse, just say so, but this sulking has to stop.” 

“I’m not- the curse?” He paused, laughing bitterly. “Did it ever occurred to you that maybe, just maybe, you aren’t as perspicacious as you think, Geralt?” He scoffed.

“Then tell me! Stop beating around bushes, begging for my attention, like a dejected puppy-" _Fuck_. Geralt paused, grimacing. He grabbed Jaskier by the arm. “I’m here, and I’m trying, Jaskier. But I’m not good with-” He frowned. His internal cringe reaching a point where he couldn't even look at Jaskier without diverting his gaze away. “This.” He said, finally.

He was really bad at conversations. 

The bard nodded slowly. “Yeah, I gathered as much.” They stood like this for a while, then, “You can let go, now, Geralt.” 

_Right._

  
x

  
“What is this supposed to be?” Jaskier said, gazing down at the skinned rabbit on his laps. “An offering?” 

“Food.” 

They were still hours away from town, and the night was already falling. It had taken a while for Geralt to decide what to bring back to Jaskier. Especially since he had no idea what the bard could and couldn't eat. 

Jaskier chuckled. “What part of human blood, did you not understand?” 

While the witch had claimed only human blood would do, she was neither an expert in curses or vampires. Some species could feed on animal blood just fine, and Geralt really hoped it would be the case for Jaskier.

“Can’t you at least try it?” He asked.

The sun had barely set yet the cold wind was already on the prowl, freezing their bones mercilessly. Geralt had his cloak pulled around him, while he lighted the fire. Jaskier was dressed in thin clothes, fancy, but useless against the wind. Yet the bard didn't seem cold at all. A perk of the curse perhaps, if perk was even the right word. 

“Fine!” Jaskier said, examining the rabbit as if it had grown a second head. “Am I suppose to just- dig in?”

“You tell me.” The witcher shrugged. 

“Well excuse me, Geralt, but I’ve never eaten a raw rabbit before,” Jaskier said, taking a reluctant bite. He spat it right out.

“You’re not even trying.” 

The bard scowled. “You try it then, show me how a mighty witcher does it.”

The throw was gentle. Meant for the rabbit to be caught easily, but what Jaskier didn’t understand was; He wasn’t quite human anymore. The rabbit crashed into Geralt’s face and knocked him backward into the grass. Ass down and legs up, like a struggling turtle. One would think that witcher’s reflexes could’ve prevented that, but no. Geralt had been too busy focusing on the fire to notice the incoming object. 

He glared at Jaskier dumbfounded. None of them moved for a moment.

“Did you just-” 

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier said instantly. “Actually, no I’m not. That was the vilest thing I have ever put inside my mouth.” 

Somehow, Geralt doubted that. The witcher had to take a deep and very, very long breath not to strangle Jaskier right there. He knew that the sudden shift in the bard's strength would take a while to get used to, but it didn’t make it less annoying. 

“I’m trying to help you, Jaskier.” He hissed.

“I didn’t ask for your help!” Jaskier shouted, his tone dripping with frustration. “I tried your stupid rabbit, Geralt. It's like eating a mouthful of dirt. It’s disgusting. So either, you bare me your neck or you get out of my way because I’m starving and I’m not about to start begging for food.” 

Where would he even go? No one lived so deep into the countryside. The nearest house was probably miles away. And even if that wasn't the case-

“You can’t drink from people.” 

“Look at me. Does this face looks human to you?” The bard spat. “I’m a fucking monster, Geralt. I’ll drink from people if I want to. And if you’re not happy with it, you're welcome to use that sword of yours to stop me.” 

“I meant-” Geralt sighed. “If I let you leave right now, and you kill someone, what do you think would happen?” 

Even if Jaskier managed to somehow, controlled himself, the toxin was too dangerous. It lingered in the bloodstream like a drug, urging the body to get more. The people that would get bitten by Jaskier would be very willing to get drained dry. And Jaskier wasn't known for exercising restraint, even when his life depended on it.

He shrugged. “You’d kill me?"

and Geralt was the clueless one? 

“No. You’d be treated as a monster for the rest of your life, whether the curse gets lifted or not. Everything you worked for, your songs, your poems- would all have been for nothing. In my experience, a reputation like that is enough to break a man, even from the grave. But you decide. If you leave, I won’t stop you.” 

Jaskier sighed, crossing his arms. "I'm starting to believe you take pleasure in lecturing me." He sat down on a rock and added, spatting, “You win Geralt. Like usual." 

If Jaskier could listen to reason, there was a chance they could somehow, control this. 

“How much do you need?” Geralt asked, reaching for his bag. He grabbed a bowl and a knife. While he couldn’t let the bard drink directly from him- He cut at his wrist, ignoring the flaring pain and angled the bowl just in time to catch the first droplets of blood. -he could still make sure Jaskier didn't starve.

“Hmm, no, no- Geralt, what are you doing?” 

“Don’t move.” The witcher ordered. “It's my fault you got cursed. I’m only doing what's right.”

“There’s nothing right about-” Jaskier froze, gazing at Geralt in horror. “this.” He gulped before slowly lowering himself on the ground. 

“Jaskier!” Geralt warned. Instead of stopping, the bard began crawling toward him. Eyes fixed on his wrist like a predator stalking a wounded prey. "Enough."

Jaskier didn't listen. Instead, he followed the scent of blood until it led him right between Geralt's legs. Where he sat, gazing up, waiting, like a puppy begging for scraps. 

“Jaskier.” He called again, this time softer. At this point, the simplest movement could force Jaskier to attack. “Control yourself.” 

Jaskier rested his face on Geralt knee, fangs out, his eyes glowing. “The blood's going to be cold.” He whined, eyeing the bowl as if it was the cause of all evil in the world. 

The witcher scoffed. “Just be grateful I’m doing this for you.” 

“You smell good.” Jaskier hummed, tilting his head until he met Geralt’s gaze. “I mean it. You really, really smell good right now.” He paused, rubbing his cheeks against Geralt’s legs. “Please, Geralt, I’m hungry-” 

Geralt looked down, unimpressed. “I thought you didn’t beg for food.”

“Yet here I am, on my knees.” 

The witcher rolled his eyes. Of course, Jaskier had to make this more awkward than it already was. 

“Take it.” Geralt said, handing the bowl to Jaskier. 

The bard didn't stir. “I can’t. if I move, I fear I’ll hurt you again.”

“Fine," Geralt sighed. "open up.” _For fuck sake-_

His regret was immediate. Jaskier opened his mouth widely, tongue sticking out-

still between Geralt’s legs. 

Suddenly, the cold night wasn’t so cold anymore. 

As soon as the blood began pouring into Jaskier's mouth, he moaned, closing his eyes softly. A sight that would make even the straightest man blush. 

This had been a shit idea.

“That’s more than enough.” He grunted, when the bowl was emptied. 

The bard didn't move immediately. His gaze lingered on Geralt's neck, then to the cut on his skin. Jaskier grabbed his arm and pulled it forward, squeezing at his wrist when Geralt tried to move.

"Jaskier-

"Shh- relax," Jaskier smirked. Then, with a single lap of his tongue, he licked the wound clean. "Goodnight, Geralt.” He said, already walking away.

_Little shit._

They needed to find Yennefer. As soon as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again my lovelies :D Hope y'all like this chapter !!  
> Yes, I'm updating on a Sunday- we'll see how this goes..  
> Also, I'll post the next chapter either Thursday or Friday! 
> 
> Please leave your comments and kudos down belowwww <3


	7. Chapter 7

The office was dusty and hushed, like a graveyard. The scent of books and old people hovered in the air, forcing the witcher to furrow his nose in annoyance. Rows of high shelves filled the room, crammed with old books and manuscripts of all sorts. All ancient, and outdated, kept as decoration rather than reading material. 

From what Geralt had gathered, this was where the folks in town came to look for information. About new laws, events, tragedies but most importantly, people. 

A dwarf sat behind a desk, with rounds spectacles and a beard as long as his body. He gazed up as the witcher approached.

“A witcher in me shop? Gods have mercy-” 

“I heard you’re good at finding people.” 

“Aye, the best. That’s why they call me The Finder, but my specialties lay in old languages, spells, and-”

“I don’t care. I just need you to find someone for me.”

His eyes widened in outrage. He slammed his little fist on the desk, barely shaking the surface in his wrath. Like a pebble thrown into the river, yet making no ripples whatsoever. “Everyone does! Do I look like a fookin servant to you? Look around! These books contain knowledge so rare, even a witcher would be impressed. To own such a collection makes me, a master of knowledge! I have no time for your errands!”

Geralt glanced around, “Hmm. It would if your books weren’t so dusty and old. That does make you a master, but not of knowledge. Of hoarding. When was the last time you opened any of them, Dwarf?” 

The dwarf sighed, almost sadly and rearranged his spectacles. “You sure know where to hit, Witcher. Fine. Write your name on the list, I’ll summon you when it’s your turn.” 

“How long is that going to take?” 

The dwarf dropped a massive book on the desk. He turned the pages until reaching the very last one. “A few years, give or take.” 

Geralt barely had a few days before he strangled Jaskier to death. He unsheltered his sword slowly and placed it right, next to the book.

“I take coins, not swords, Witcher.” 

“I’m Geralt of Rivia.” He spat. 

“Butcher. Of course, it had to be you. The name’s Deken.” He said, offering his hand in greetings. 

“Yes, I know.” 

Seeing as the dwarf wasn't lowering his hand, Geralt shook it reluctantly. 

“Now, hurry up and write your name! I haven’t got all day.” 

“I could write it with your blood.” The witcher growled. 

“You could.” He nodded, “But then, who’ll help you?”

“I’ll pay double.” 

"No.”

“Triple.”

“No!” The dwarf shouted.

He sighed. “Look, I really need to find this person... fast. How about we make a deal?”

“What kind of deal?” 

x

  
“Geralt, what took you- oh, hello?” Jaskier paused mid-sentence, glancing at the dwarf. “Your new sidekick?” 

“This is Deken. He’s here to-” Inspect you? No, that didn’t sound right at all. “see you.”

The bard sat on the window’s sill, his finger on his lute. A few empty bottles of wines next to him.

“Witcher, If I wanted to see a drunkard, I could’ve looked just outside me shop,” Deken said, crossing his arms. 

While Jaskier claimed he drank to help with the blood cravings, it did very little except worsening his temper. His thirst was the same, wine or not. The only thing that really changed was the increase in the bills, because, yes, booze was expensive. 

“A d-drunkard?” Jaskier gaped, dropping his lute clumsily. “Why are dwarfs always so vexing?” 

“This dwarf knows how to find Yennefer.” 

Jaskier stilled, “Right. Good. Where is she?”

The witcher sighed. “He’ll get on with it, but first-” 

“I need to see it. With me own eyes. A curse so rare, it’s not in any books!” 

Jaskier chuckled coldly. “So, the dwarf wants a peek, is that it?” His eyes turned to a dimmed red, his fangs growing gradually into their full length. “Is there anything else you require, my lords?” He asked, bending, in a mocked bow.

“What else can you do?” Deken questioned with excitement, clearly not getting the hint. “Can you sing loud enough to pierce a man’s eardrums- or can you turn invisible, like the tales?”

The singing part, the bard could do, even without the curse. 

Jaskier stared at him, unimpressed. “I can try turning invisible, that is, if you don’t mind me removing my clothing- ” 

“Enough.” Geralt scowled. “You’ll get the rest of the details when I find the woman I’m looking for.” 

Deken nodded, stroking his long beard. “Aye. This is what I’m talking about! A curse that turns normal folks into blood-sucking monsters. It'll definitely make me rich.” He grinned. “I’ll write whole articles about it-”

“You’ll do no such things.” Jaskier hissed. “My reputation is at stake here and I won’t let it be ruined by a greedy dwarf.” 

“What reputation?” He laughed. “Blame the Witcher. He’s the one who offered me this deal. Must be some woman, eh?” Deken said, grinning to Geralt. “So who’s she, some sort of noblewoman? A princess-”

“A murderous sorceress-” Jaskier spat, glaring at Geralt.

“Yennefer of Vengerberg.”

  
x

Deken had said he'd need time to locate Yennefer. She was, after all, very hard to find when she didn't want to be. Even though it had only been a few days, to Geralt, it already felt like years. There wasn’t any beast to slay or contracts worth their time in this town. All they could do was to sit at the inn and wait. 

It was pure torture.

“So, how does it feel to sell out your friend?"

"We're not friends. And stop being so dramatic."

"Your best friend actually. And you didn't even hesitate. I hope it was worth it, Geralt, because now- the whole continent will know of this curse. I won’t ever be able to face anyone, ever again. Thanks to you.” 

"It was the only way. I’ll deal with Deken once he tells us where Yen is.” 

“Oh it’s back to Yen, now, is it?”

“Can you stop talking, for one second?” Geralt growled, knife stilling next to his wrist.

With Jaskier's insufferable chatter, it was almost impossible to concentrate. Geralt's only priority, right now, was not bleeding to death while he cut at his own wrist. Feeding him had proved to be manageable, as long as Geralt gave him blood every few days and ignored Jaskier's disturbing moans while he fed. 

“Silence is boring. I don’t like boring things.” He said tediously, half his body leaning against the bed while trying to compose a new song. Something about greedy dwarfs and betrayals. “Do you suppose she’ll be happy to see you?”

Geralt paused, almost done with filling the cup. “We haven’t exactly parted on good terms.”

“That’s the understatement of the year.” He scoffed. “We’ll be lucky if she doesn’t kill us on sight. So what’s the plan? You woo her until she yields to your crude charm, and by some miracle, agrees to cure me?” 

“No.” He sighed. “I’ll apologize. Then we'll see-”

“You’ll apolog-” Jaskier raised from the bed. “apologize?”

“Hm.” 

With everything that had happened, he owed her that, at least. For the Djinn, his wish, and the relationship that followed. He was sorry. Sorry, he had hidden the true reason behind their love.

If love was even the right word. More like a bond, forged by magic and pretenses- 

_Fake_

Geralt handed the cup to Jaskier and went to tend to his wound. After a moment, he frowned at the silence. Either Jaskier was dying, or-

“What is it?” Geralt gazed at the cup, still full in his hands. “Not hungry?” 

The bard sent the cup flying. In an instant, blood splattered across the wall and floor, wasting away all of Geralt's hard work. The room looked like a murder scene.

Which was suddenly, very convenient, because murder is what Geralt was about to commit. 

“Clean this up, right now.” He hissed.

“Do you enjoy making my life a living hell?” The bard asked. 

“It's your mess Jaskier, I'm not going to clean it for you-”

“I’ve followed you around for years and not once did you ever apologize. To anyone, for anything, ever. So if this another one of your desperate attempts to get her back- it’s pathetic.”

Geralt slammed his fist against the table, glaring at the bard. Since the Dragon’s hunt, he had pondered over hundreds of ways to fix things between him and Yen. But as time went on, he became unsure if there was anything left to fix in the first place. 

And then, there was the matter with what he had said to Jaskier. 

That wasn’t fixable at all. 

“Why does everything has to be about Yennefer?” Geralt would have thought that after a while, the bard would’ve given up on his hatred for the sorceress. It was, after all, unfounded and petty, especially since she had saved his life. 

“You tell me! I’m not the one turning into a brainless seaweed every time her name is mentioned."

“I’m only seeking her for your sake, Jaskier.” He said, slowly. Swallowing his anger. This time, he wouldn’t let words get the better of him.   
  
“If it’s for my sake, why do you look so happy at the thought of seeing her?” 

Was he-

“Are you...jealous?” He asked. 

Jaskier froze. “No. I’m n-not. Why in the world would y-you even think that-” 

That explained so much. The anger, the bickering, the fits, the dirty glares-

“Jaskier-” Geralt smirked, “if you’re interested in Yennefer-”

After all, the Sorceress was beautiful and dangerously beguiling. It wouldn’t come as a surprise if the bard had fallen for her charms. While he stood no chance, whatsoever, Geralt was still impressed by his guts. 

Jaskier’s nostrils flared, his fists clenched. “You bloody moron!” 

He slammed the door behind him.

x

  
Jaskier's voice echoed from downstairs for a while, followed by cheers and shouts. When the songs stopped, and the night progressed, Geralt decided to go and investigate. Just in case the bard had decided to go on a bloody rampage-

Geralt didn’t need to look far to find Jaskier. He was sitting near the back of the room, in the company of a lovely brunette. Thus explained the blessed silence. As soon as their eyes met, Jaskier threw him a dark glare, as if to warn Geralt not to come any closer. 

The witcher didn't. Instead, he ordered a jug of ale and decided to wait until Jaskier had calmed down to have a talk with him. If they didn't settle this matter tonight, smothering the bard to death while he slept, was next on the list. A necessary sacrifice to preserve his sanity.

After his fifth jug, Geralt's sight became a haze. His thoughts were now a fumble of half-words floating around in his head, covered by a thick and white mist. He had no idea how or why he even came downstairs, to mingle among noisy and sweaty people-

Then he caught sight of Jaskier again, getting really cozy with his lady friend. His whole face was shoved into her cleavage as he licked languishingly at her pale bosoms. A displayed both debauched and very public. One that Geralt hadn't expected- at all. And, for some unfathomable reason, seeing Jaskier being so intimate with someone- irked him. 

Not that he would ever admit it out loud. 

He stared in confusion as the girl leaned back, offering Jaskier better access to her neck and chest. He didn't hesitate to leave a wet trail of messy kisses along her neck, pausing slightly when he reached her jugular. A crimson glow appeared in his eyes. So faint, it could've been mistaken as the reflection of the fire. But Geralt knew better. 

Jaskier was growing hungry. 

The brunette whispered something into Jaskier's ear, and suddenly, he turned around. The witcher meant to look away, but the effort was too great. Instead, he stared right back at him. The staring contest lasted a moment before Jaskier finally decided to look away. He exchanged a few words with the girl before she headed upstairs, and he, in Geralt's direction. Perhaps now, they could have their overdue talk.

“Peeping is unbecoming of you, Witcher,” He said, leaning against the table.

“I wasn’t.”

“Let's call it staring fiercely in our way, then.” 

Geralt shrugged. “We need to talk.” 

“It'll have to wait. It wouldn’t be proper to keep a lady waiting, after all."

Geralt grabbed the bard by the collar. “Jaskier, don’t do this.” 

“I’ll fuck whom I want, Geralt! Release me.” He spat.

“You can't control yourself right now, you haven't even fed.” 

“Whose fault is that?”

“Jaskier!” Geralt hissed, pulling him clumsily forward. “You’re being unreasonable.”

The bard didn’t pull away, instead, he stared right into Geralt’s eyes. “Geralt, are you-” He paused, glancing at the jugs of ale, now all empty. “You’re drunk.” He scoffed.

“No.” Geralt said. Then, “Yes.”

Jaskier frowned. “And you insist I'm the drunkard? How-"

“I was waiting for you to-" He gestured awkwardly, "not be cross anymore. It took a while.”

“well, I am still very cross so we'll discuss this tomorrow.” 

Geralt didn’t let go. “No.” 

“Why are you suddenly so clingy?” Jaskier said, trying to break free from the hold. 

“It’s not safe.”

“Since when did you become the master of my existence? Let me tell you, Witcher, that I am perfectly capable of using my cock without stabbing anyone to death with it!” 

Geralt knew he was overstepping his bounds, but it wasn’t his cock he was worried about, it was the fangs. 

“You’re not.” 

“And who’s being unreasonable, now?” He sighed, “Dear gods- I am bedding her, whether you approve or not, Geralt.” He paused, malice gathering in his gaze, “But, if you’re so set on chaperoning me, you’re welcomed to tag along. I’m sure the lovely lady upstairs won’t mind- she was quite fond of your intense staring.”

The witcher let go slowly. 

“No? That’s what I thought.” Jaskier said, straightened his clothing, smiling. “See you, Geralt.”

This conversation was far from being over. Geralt got up on wobbly legs and followed behind Jaskier in silence. Or so he thought, before crashing into every possible table and chair in his path. The bard glanced behind his shoulder, sighing. He guided Geralt upstairs until stopping in front of a room a few doors away from theirs. His fingers stilled on the handle. 

“Last chance, Geralt. You sure about this?” Jaskier asked. 

“I’m chaperoning.” Geralt said, solemnly. "And then, we'll talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay y'all, be honest now, on a scale of 1 to 10, how much smut do yall want in the next chapter?  
> It's still a slowburn tho >:)  
> Leave them comments + kudos down below! I greatly appreciate them!!


	8. Chapter 8

“Sit there,” Jaskier instructed.

Geralt complied, letting his body fall gracelessly into the chair. The room smelled of warm vanilla and cinnamon. About a dozen scented candles laid around the bed in what seemed to be the shape of a heart. 

To Geralt, it looked more like a sacrificial circle then anything else. 

Jaskier was in the middle of untying the brunette's corset when she pulled away. “No-” She smiled. “I want him to do it.”

Him being- 

_Him_. Oh.

She offered her back to the witcher. 

Geralt stared at the piece of garment as if it was the devil incarnated. Even sober, corsets weren't his specialty. Too tedious and delicate for his rough hands. He usually just ripped them off. 

A gesture, not likely to be appreciated. He opted instead for throwing a panicked glare in Jaskier's way. The bard was at his side in an instant. 

“Let me.” He said, removing Geralt’s hands. 

The witcher was more than happy to obey. 

“Are you watching or partaking?” The brunette asked.

They both froze. Jaskier's hands stilled on the garment, his gazed shifting to Geralt, waiting. Since both options were equally dreadful, Geralt settled with,

“Silently observing." Which, now that he said it out loud, was way worse. 

Jaskier added. “He’s just here to make sure I’m not too naughty.” 

Geralt cringed in horror. 

“He’s your boyfriend or something?” 

He finally understood why this had been the worst idea he ever had. 

“No-” They said at the same time. 

Jaskier chuckled nervously. “Dear lord, no. We’re just-” 

“Acquaintances-” Geralt supplied. 

“-friends,” Jaskier said, frowning slightly. 

Well, this was awkward. 

“Right.” She smirked. “Acquaintances or friends, who are into threesomes. Duly noted.” 

“No, no- he’s not-” The bard stammered. "He's staying on the chair. Right, Geralt?"

Yes, he was. 

“We’ll see about that, won’t we?” She said, her glance lingering seductively on Geralt.

Geralt hadn't expected things to go this far. He was only here because he wanted to have a damn conversation.

But Jaskier just didn't back down. 

So he waited, believing that at worst, he'd be witness to a teary lovemaking. One ridiculously tender and dull and easily forgettable. 

Instead, he got the complete opposite. 

Jaskier took her hard and fast, whispering filthy praises in her ears. It was rough and desperate and a vanishing spell would've been quite handy right about now.

If only Geralt knew how to do proper magic. 

His mind was already heavy with ale, but soon, it became even harder to concentrate. The room grew warm and foggy with lust, wet moans and the sound of skin slapping against skin. Geralt felt like he was drowning in it. He could only be glad he was facing their backs. At least he didn't have to look at Jaskier's smug look-

“Give him a better view.” The brunette groaned. 

Of course, this had to become even more unbearable than it already was. The witcher glanced down as they turned their position around, preferring the view of the floor rather than the one on the bed. 

“What's wrong, Geralt,” Jaskier said breathlessly, “is the ground in need of a chaperone too?” 

_It's a taunt._ The voice in his head said, _Don't look-_

But Geralt wasn't one to back down either.

He glared up. 

And he regretted it immediately. 

Jaskier had the brunette on her knees, pinning her down by the neck as he fucked viciously into her, her face burrowed into the pillow. This had been a shit idea. He definitely blamed the ale for this one. And Jaskier. And this stupid curse-

Their eyes met and suddenly, the room turned hot. Almost burning, leaving his skin and neck prickling with thick heat. 

"Fuck-" Jaskier hissed, his eyes now flirting on the redder side. 

Fuck indeed. 

His collar was undone, his hair messy and sticking to his damp skin. Seeing Jaskier so disheveled sent a rush down his spine. Geralt should've been ashamed of intruding upon Jaskier's intimate matters, but, they had crossed so many boundaries already, what was one more? He couldn't find it in himself to care, but that was definitely the booze's doing. 

Jaskier held his gaze, his irises now fully crimson. His grip on the brunette tightened and his thrust grew in strength. 

“Master Jaskier-” She whimpered.

Someone clearly hadn't grasped the concept of super strength, yet. The bed whined in protest at the ruthless pace. After a particularly strong push, Geralt stood up.

Jaskier was going to split her in two. 

“Slow down.” Geralt whispered. His voice too low for the girl to hear, but loud enough for Jaskier's enhanced hearing to catch. “You’re going to hurt her.”

So much for silently observing. 

Jaskier stared at him, face flushed, eyes half-closed in pleasure. “Then stop me.” He mouthed, between two moans. 

For fuck sakes-

In three quick steps, he was behind Jaskier. Well, more like three stumbles. Geralt grabbed him by the hips mid-thrust.

“Geralt-” He chocked. “don’t.” 

The gesture was instinctive and rash and Geralt did his best not to let his fingers linger on the bard. But they did. A moment later, Jaskier’s fangs appeared. The witcher could only thank the gods the brunette was facing the bed. Otherwise, this would’ve been quite the crisis.

She chuckled, voice rasp from exhaustion. “Changed your mind, Witcher?

Definitely not. 

“Please Geralt- I can’t-” he whined.

Jaskier was already so far gone that, any minute now, he could lose control. Knocking them both out would be a quick and efficient way to deal with this mess, but Geralt wasn't sure he could, even if he wanted to. As if on cue, Jaskier tipped forward, mouth grazing at the brunette’s shoulder; preparing for a bite. Geralt tried to pull him back by the jaw, but instead, his hand slipped and Jaskier bit right into his wrist. 

Fuck-  
  
Not good.

Jaskier groaned, shuddering so hard, Geralt felt the tremor under his grip.

“Jaskier!” He hissed

The pain was brief, like a flash, then a pleasant itch settled in. Jaskier swallowed a long and desperate mouthful before leaning back against Geralt's chest, pushing languorously into the brunette. Her moans now louder than the noise from downstairs. Geralt was amazed she hadn't figured out what was going on yet.

A numbness traveled along his arm, then his whole chest and neck, making his skin ache with need. The bard’s fangs were so deep into his skin, that Geralt could swear they were grazing against his very bones.

And it felt good. More than good. After a particularly sharp nip, a low groan escaped his lips. 

“Jaskier.” He said, tightening his grasp. “take it easy.” His voice was so rough, he was impressed the words came out at all.

The mouthfuls grew heavy and insistent. He lapped and sucked at the wound, filling Geralt's head with a fog of pure pleasure. 

Shit- 

He rolled his hips against Jaskier. The pressure sent chills throughout his whole body. This wasn't supposed to feel so intense. He racked the bard's shirt up, digging deep into his side. 

"Oh, god." Jaskier yelped, thrusting deeply into the brunette. 

She cried. "Yes- yes!" Her body shaking against the bed, back arching. 

That's when Geralt lost it. He shoved Jaskier forward, pulling his own wrist back. 

“Geralt-” Jaskier whined. "not y-yet." 

Geralt sighed, holding him in place. “You had enough. Be quiet.” 

He freed his cock from his pants and started stroking himself. The whole thing would've been mortifying had he not been too wasted and filled with the toxin to care. His whole body was so sensitive, the slightest touched felt overwhelming and raw. This wouldn't take long, at all. 

“Fuck-” Jaskier glanced back, moaning. His thrusts, now erratic. “Geralt--” 

He pulled away from the girl and finished himself with his hand. His cries now high pitched, his knees buckling. Geralt quickly followed, lifting Jaskier's shirt in time before coming all over his back. His climax so intense, he had to hold onto the bed for support. 

He was never touching booze again. 

Jaskier collapsed haplessly next to the brunette. 

She chuckled, head still shoved into the pillow. "That was hot."

She shifted, about to raise-

But Jaskier's fangs hadn't retreated yet. His mouth was still covered in blood, eyes red and glowing-

Geralt lifted his hand up. She fell right back into the bed. 

He wasn’t a mage, but Somne was damn useful once in a while.

“Hm, Geralt?” Jaskier asked. “Is she-”

“She’s sleeping.”

As soon as he took back his breath, Geralt leaped away from the bed. He needed to leave, right now, before he did something he'd regret even more. 

"Wait!" Jaskier called, grabbing at his sleeve. His voice wavering. "Didn't you want to talk?" 

"Tomorrow."

Relief seemed to wash over him. He let go. "Tomorrow, then."

x

  
“Ya look like shit, Witcher,” Deken said, grinning. 

He felt like shit too. His whole body was wrecked and his head pounded so hard, he could barely stand. 

“Rough night.” 

“Did the ale hit too hard?”

Among other things.

“I’m here for Yennefer.” He answered dryly. 

He received words this morning that the dwarf had news for him. Geralt hoped it was good ones. The sooner Jaskier was taken care of, the better. 

Geralt really wanted to avoid a repeat of last night. 

“Aye, I found your sorceress. Took me a while, but even the clever ones leave a trail.”

Finally.

“Where is she?” 

“The Red Mines, north of Vizima.” 

Geralt frowned. “Why?” 

“For a clearing contract, issued by Lord Vaslon. Wraiths, of all things.”

“Wraiths?” Yennefer was no monster hunter-

“Aye. They're everywhere in the mines. Quite hard to get rid of, too. They keep killing the men Vaslon is sending." 

“What are they mining?” 

“Rubies. So you can imagine the bounty.”

No doubt it was very generous. That explained why Yennefer was there. 

The dwarf handed Geralt a map where he circled the said mines. They weren’t so far, perhaps a few days of riding. He’d have to get Jaskier a horse. He was definitely adding that to the bard’s ever-growing debt. 

“Thank you." He said, shoving the map inside his bag. 

“No problem. I was happy to serve.” 

Now that this was settled-

“About that...” He paused. “Think you could forget about what you saw?” 

Geralt figured asking first was the proper thing to do. At least he’d give the dwarf a chance to avoid a very thorough beating. 

“I’m no fool, Witcher. I knew the moment I laid eyes on him that those articles would never see the light of day.”

“Why’s that?” 

“I know who he is and I know who’s after him. I’d rather keep me life, thank you very much.” 

“You mean-”

“Your companion offended the wrong man. I ain’t about to get mixed up in the business of the Ripper.”

“Why did you helped us, then?” 

“Since you two arrived, strangers started lurking about town. A bad crowd to have around. Not good at all for business. Better I helped you than you stayed around and brought trouble.”

“Headhunters.” Geralt sighed. 

“That’s what I fear. I can’t help but sympathize with ya friend. Ain’t easy living in this rotten world when you’re different, especially with shitheads like Vess.” 

“We’ll get rid of the curse-”

“I don’t mean the curse, Witcher.” 

Geralt frowned. “What, then?"

The only thing different about Jaskier was his ridiculous sense of fashion. He doubted his satin’s wearables were what had offended the baron.

Deken leaned back against the desk, grinning. “You don’t know?” 

“Know what?” Geralt snapped. 

“Oh, Witcher.” He chuckled. “You never met Vess before, have you?” 

“No.” He spat. “I gather you have?”

“Saw him on the streets, once, a few years back. Frightening man, I tell you. Didn't hesitate to burn whole houses to the ground, the families inside included. He has quite the... distinguished appearance. You'll see for yourself soon enough."

“Or you could just tell me.”

“Where’s the fun in that?" He chuckled. "A word of advice, better let him keep the curse. At least this way, he’ll live.”

But what kind of life would that be?

“Farewell.” He said.

They needed to find Yennefer. That was the priority. 

“Wait, one last thing.” He said, handing him a lavish envelope with his name on it. “This arrived yesterday at the town’s office. Figured I’d grab it for ya.”

The Countess. 

Fuck, Geralt had forgotten about her.

“Right. Thanks.”

“Be gentle with him, would ya? Poor thing had been through enough already.”

x

  
Something was wrong. If headhunters really were here, what had they've been waiting for all this time? The bounty was as high as it got, striking straight away should've been the obvious choice. 

Yet they didn't. They remained about town, hiding in the shadows-

Geralt was missing something. 

When he arrived at the inn, the whole place was frantic. Villagers had gathered in the hall, while a girl screamed at the owner in panic. It was the brunette from last night. Her lip was split and dark bruises covered her arms and wrist. 

Jaskier couldn't have done that. Curse or not, he would've rather die than hurt a lady. 

As soon as he walked in, she sighed in relief. “Witcher!” She cried, “They t-took him away.” 

The headhunters. 

Fuck. 

“Where?" He growled. 

She gestured the forest with a shaky hand. 

At least, now he had his answer; They had been waiting for him to leave Jaskier's side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than expected! sorry for the wait-
> 
> Hope yall like the update, thanks again for all your feedbacks
> 
> Leave them juicy comments and kudos down. below. >:)


	9. Chapter 9

One mistake, that’s all it took for his world to come crashing down. Everyone had warned him about the Baron; how dangerous he was, how determined- 

Geralt never thought it would have been so easy to take Jaskier away from him. He had been so careless.

He rode Roach into the forest in a fury, his sword drawn, scanning the trees for movement. They weren’t far, Geralt could smell them in the wind, steel, and sweat-

and blood. 

A lot of it. 

The headhunters were scattered around, weapons out, raking the wood, as if searching for something. They didn’t see Geralt coming from behind. He dismounted Roach in haste before pouncing on the closest man, fist smashing right into his jaw. 

“Where is he?” He growled. 

The man stumbled backward. “Walk away, Witcher-” 

Geralt shoved his sword through his chest. He had no patience or mercy left. He turned to the rest of the group.

“Where is Jaskier?” 

If anything had happened to him, Geralt was going to slice the skin off their bones slow, and painful. And then- the baron and his whole family were next, as well as his people, their cattle, their pets. 

He was going to skin them all. 

A scream echoed somewhere behind the trees. Too deep to be Jaskier’s, but loud enough to put everyone on edge. The headhunters all froze, before gathering behind him like a bunch of frightened rats. One of them lifted a shaking finger toward the distance. 

“You want your friend? You go get him, Witcher.”

Jaskier was alive. 

“He’s here!” another said, jolting his crossbow around, his whole body shaking like a leaf in a storm. 

“Drop the crossbow. There’s no one there.” Geralt said.

“We just can’t see him, but he’s there, Witcher- look at the ground!” 

Geralt glanced down. Footprints appeared in the mud- definitely a man’s, but there was no one in front of them-

_Bruxae's invisibility._

The curse was progressing. 

“Jaskier?” He called. 

The arrow was shot before Geralt could stop it. It stopped above the ground, stuck in the air as if it had hit into something

no, not something. It hit Jaskier. 

“Good shot!” One of the headhunters said, 

The man began reloading the weapon but before he could, Geralt sliced his arms off with one swing of his sword. The man fell, screaming on the ground.

Then Geralt realized his mistake-

_Blood._

A strong wind brushed against his cheek. Fast, like a blast, then pain. A lot of it. He flew back into a tree, his side crashing on the bark, blood spurting out of his mouth. 

Fuck- 

All he could see was a hovering arrow, tearing through the men as if they were paper figures. Limbs were being pulled apart quicker than Geralt could blink.

Jaskier was killing them- 

“Witcher! Help us-” 

They ran toward him. Jaskier crossed the distance so quickly, the ground pulsed. He grabbed one of them by the throat, hauling him up-

“Jaskier!” Geralt barked. “Stop.” 

He paused as if hesitating, then, another arrow hit Jaskier. This time, fired by a man hiding behind a bush- 

Geralt got up, grabbing his sword and throwing it into the headhunter's neck. The man fell right back into the bush.

“Are you alright?” He asked the bard, panic in his tone. 

Instead of an answer, the man in the air screamed. While Geralt couldn't see what was happening, he could hear the blood being swallowed, hungrily. 

He turned to the rest of the group, now shaking in fright. 

“Get out of here.” He growled. 

“No, we’re not leaving without his head.”

In that case-

“If you want him, you’ll have to go through me.” 

They hesitated, glancing at each other in confusion. Then, a foot shoved into Geralt's back; hard and sudden. He tumbled down right in front of the headhunters. 

A blade was held against his throat in an instant.

 _Perfect_. That is exactly what he needed. 

He meant to glare at Jaskier but since he had no idea where his face actually was, he glared at the arrows instead. 

“I've changed my mind. You can deal with him however you like.” He spat.

If Jaskier wanted to be an ass, so be it. Better they received the blows than him. 

The group was ripped apart in seconds, like pigs in a slaughterhouse. Jaskier was stronger, and faster, and right now, Geralt wasn't sure he could stop him, even if he tried. 

“One move and your friend’s dead.” The man that held him hostage said, his sword trembling.

The bard stopped dead in his track. 

"That's right. Now show yourself." 

Jaskier’s naked body slowly appeared, covered in blood from head to toes. As Geralt expected, claws had grown in place of his fingernails; no doubt responsible for all the carnage. Bruxae's claws were as deadly as a sword. 

A crimson haze filled the entirety of his eyes now; like two glowing pools of blood with no reflection in it. Hollow and dead.

Jaskier pulled the arrows out, wincing slightly. The wounds didn't look fatal, if anything, they seemed to be healing already. Deken had been right, without the curse, Jaskier wouldn't have survived this.

And Geralt would've lost him.

“Kill him,” Jaskier said, his voice cold.

What-

“I will!” The headhunter shouted. 

“Then do it." 

"Jaskier," He frowned. "If this is your idea of reverse psychology-”

"No, I just don't care. I mean, why should I? We’re not even friends."

So this is what it was truly about- 

Geralt grunted as the blade bit deeper into his skin. 

“No, we're not. In fact-” He glanced at the man. “why don’t you give me the blade, I’ll kill him myself.” 

The man hesitated. 

“Funny, because you didn’t seem to want me dead last night when you came all over me." 

Oh god-

“What the fuck are you two on about-” The headhunter asked.

“Jaskier!” Geralt paled. “We are not having this conversation right now.” 

“Yes, we are!”

The man lowered his sword. “I had enough of this-”

Before he could take a single step, Geralt knocked him out. 

“I looked for you this morning, you know?” Jaskier spat. “But surprise, surprise, you were nowhere to be found. Like usual.”

“I should've been there.” 

“Yes, but you weren’t. You never are-” 

Those words dug deep into Geralt’s chest. Like stabbing daggers.

“Deken had news about-” 

Jaskier backhanded him so hard, his head slammed against the ground.

Oh, Geralt was going to murder him.

“Again, with your precious Sorceress.” He hissed. 

“Jaskier, enough!" He paused, sighing. "Yennefer will never reciprocate your affection. And even if, by some miracle, she does- she wouldn't be good for you.”

Yennefer would eat him alive. Literally. She would swallow Jaskier whole, leaving nothing behind.

He flinched, “But, let me guess. She’s good for you?” 

No- 

“This isn’t about me-”

“Everything is always about you, Geralt, and I am tired of it. Tired of your stupid assumptions, tired of following you around, tired of watching you fall in love with her, again, and again-” His voice broke. “Do you even care about what happens to me, or is this another one of your pitiful attempt at getting her back?”

It wasn't, 

“Jaskier I-” 

and he cared. A lot, more than he would ever dare to admit. But even if he did, then, what?

Witchers didn't have happy ever afters. 

“You pushed me away Geralt and it hurt. And I tried everything... to get rid of the pain, but it festers within me like a disease and I just- I just need you to be honest with me. Just this once. Please.”

He could feel the anger in his words, the resentment, the desperation- 

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t you dare,” Jaskier said. “sorry doesn’t cut it.” 

That’s when it hit him. The women, the drinking, the fights; that’s how Jaskier had coped after the dragon's hunt. The Countess had tried to tell him, but he didn’t listen.

It was his fault.

All of it. 

“I am sorry-” And he was. But he needed to settle this. Once and for all. “- sorry you got attached, but we're not friends, Jaskier. Never have been. This is business. Once everything is settled-" His chest throbbed. "and you paid back your debt-" His throat tightened. "I'll be on my way."

The words felt wrong and forced. But it was the right thing to do. If he could get him back to the Countess, she'd know how to fix this. She would take care of Jaskier and give him the life he deserved.

“You’re such a coward.” He scoffed. “You do realize I can hear your heartbeat, right?” 

“Jaskier-” 

The bard kneed him in the chin. 

Something shifted in his gaze. “I see we’re still playing pretend. Very well.” He chuckled coldly. “Here what’s going to happen, Geralt. I’ll break you’ll legs, then your arms and then after I drain you dry, I’ll leave you here to rot, like the lying dog you are.”

He fucked up. 

“Should I give you a head start?” Jaskier asked, now kneeling next to him.

The air between them was thick and tense. All he could see in Jaskier’s eyes was anger and spite. He wouldn’t listen, not now. Geralt's fists clenched. 

If words didn’t work, they’d have to settle this the old fashioned way-

Geralt elbowed him right into the jaw.

“You are so dead.” Jaskier shouted. 

He grabbed at Geralt, claw digging into his side like tiny hooks. They rolled about, exchanging punches and kicks, delivering as many hits as they could, like two children bickering.

It couldn't be considered a fight at this point, more like a pitiful pissing contest, where Jaskier did everything in his power to riled him up-

“Were you born with the emotional range of a boulder or is it a witcher thing?" 

And where Geralt, did exactly the same.

"I don't need emotions to murder monsters." He said, punching at his rib as if to prove his point. 

"Screw you!" Jaskier spat, shoving his foot down his crotch in a desperate attempt to inflict pain. Geralt grabbed his ankle mid-kick and pulled. “Let go of me, you bloody octopus!”

Jaskier's strength was withering as if panic turned his limbs into porridge. Geralt shoved his face into the ground. 

"You're not going anywhere."

His fury was instant. He kicked, trashed and yelled, but Geralt held him there, waiting-

Then, the Countess’ words appeared in his mind; _A whip hand, like a leash to a dog-_

Geralt lifted his hand up and brought it down against Jaskier’s bottom. Hard. The bard's body clenched in his grip and after a long and very, very tense silence, he struggled again. This time, frantic, and wild and-

Geralt hit him again. 

“Jaskier,” He warned. “I’ll hurt you.”

“You always do.” He roared. 

Geralt’s hand stilled above his skin. He could smell Jaskier's humiliation in the air, his anger, his outrage- but there was something else too.

Something building up slowly-

Pleasure.

He raised his brow. “Do I?” 

Geralt carried on, hitting him relentlessly. After a powerful blow, Jaskier whimpered. 

“Geralt-” 

“Be good.” Geralt rasped, his own breathing now labored. 

“I can’t-” He whined, hands tearing at the grass. “The blood, it’s too much. It's like every nerve inside my body is burning up, u-urging me to bleed you out-" 

If the curse had worsened, as Geralt feared, Jaskier's control had no doubt weakened. 

“Tell me what you need,” He asked.

“I need more.”

“You had plenty.”

Jaskier glanced back, almost brighter than before- 

"I'm not asking for blood."

Oh.

When he said more-

He meant more of this. 

Something dark twitched inside Geralt. “Take a deep breath.” He instructed, raising his hand up.

When he brought it down again, Jaskier's shoulders slouched forward in shock. 

Geralt's strokes were fast and brutal. Jaskier stopped struggling, now bracing at the ground for support, his back arching slightly after each blow, almost in a welcoming way.

Suddenly, spanking Jaskier didn't feel like such a good idea anymore. In fact, it felt wrong and too intimate.

A small groan escaped from his lips-

and Geralt stopped caring. He wanted to hear more. 

He hardened his pace, letting the full extent of his palm collide against Jaskier's backside.

“Geralt,” He hissed, his breath strained, his face shove inside his arms. “don't stop-" 

Soon, Jaskier was sobbing, his whole body shuddering on the dirt. His neck flushed even brighter than his abused bottom. 

"Had enough?" Geralt asked. 

When Jaskier didn't answer, he lifted his chin up slowly. His eyes were full of tears, but only a faint hint of red remained in them. 

He had enough.

Geralt let go, rolling down next to the bard, suddenly feeling very exhausted. The whole day had been a nightmare, but at least, Jaskier was safe. 

“Speak of this again and I’ll murder you in your sleep.” He said, moving closer until their arms touched. Not on purpose, of course. 

He let his fingers grazed against Jaskier’s wrist, his fingertips now light and hesitant on his skin.

“Are you alright?” Geralt asked.

"I'm not. I don't think I'll ever be anywhere near alright- ever again." He paused, shaking his head. "I killed them all, Geralt- I'm a monster." 

"You're no more a monster than I am."

"Is this suppose to bring me comfort?" He scoffed. "I can still feel their arrows in my chest, tearing my insides apart as I pulled them out-"

"Could've been worse." 

"How?"

He grinned. "You could've pulled arrows out of your balls." 

Jaskier chuckled weakly, his smile bright. "Yeah, there would've been no recovering from that, I'm afraid."

They stayed like this for a while. 

Then, Jaskier surged up. “Wait- where did he go?" 

"Who?" 

"The man you knocked out?”

Geralt glanced at the now empty space on the ground. 

Fuck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no regret. 
> 
> Leave them comments and kudos down below >:)


	10. Chapter 10

_Witcher, I received news that you have acquired Jaskier. I am delighted to hear that he is safe and sound by your side. I hope that you will bring him to me promptly, for I fear that Vess is growing more restless at every passing day. He is a ruthless man, and it will not be long before you see the sight of his men._

  
_Please, guard Jaskier with your life._

_M._

  
x

  
The room was as silent as a graveyard, except the occasional scribbles and rustling coming from the bed where Jaskier sat, writing. The night had turned the air stale and humid, leaving Geralt’s clothes clinging on his skin like a griffon to its nest;

Very persistently.

Jaskier hadn’t spoken since the sun had set and while Geralt did enjoy the quietness, he was quickly running out of blades to sharpen. His mind yearned for another distraction; away from the heat.

“How are your wounds?” Geralt asked. 

The bard’s clothes were undone, his hair combed back, no doubt to avoid strands from sticking to his damp skin. Jaskier usually pulsed with enthusiasm and chatter but now? He looked completely drained. He had been this way ever since they came back from the woods. 

“Which one?” He snorted, not bothering to glance up from his work. “My ass still hurts, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

The bruises and scratches from their scuffle had yet to disappear from his skin. While Geralt was no expert in curses, he suspected that it had taken a lot of energy to heal up the more serious injuries. 

The arrows hadn’t ended up being fatal to him, but they could’ve been. If he followed the lore, Bruxae's could be killed by a wooden stake to the heart. 

And what was an arrow but a stake with a point of iron attached to it? If one had managed to hit his heart-

Jaskier could’ve died,

_in theory._

“I have some salves you can use-” He said, fumbling around his bag. 

Blue eyes raised up from the parchment. “I’m composing, Geralt.” 

His voice was as distant as the sky to the ground. 

“About?” He asked, awkwardly. 

“A witcher, who, for some unknown reason, decided to spare a killer. Then the said killer managed to escape and report to his evil master.”

And Geralt could already imagine the report. Mortifying and no doubt depicting them as deviants. He definitely blamed himself for that one. 

“You’re being dramatic.” 

“Do you know how this particular story ends?” He asked, then added, a moment after, “Very badly but not for the witcher, for the bard. And that’s not being dramatic, it’s being realistic.” 

“Then maybe the bard shouldn’t have fooled around with the evil master’s daughter.”

Which, in his opinion, was a crime enough on its own. 

“He didn’t.” Jaskier spat, now his attention fully on Geralt. 

“His wife?” He asked, unimpressed. 

Jaskier let out a long sigh before joining him at the table. 

“It was him, Geralt.” 

Him as in- 

"The Baron?" Geralt frowned. “How did that go?”

“As badly as one can imagine, I suppose.” 

“Enough to warrant a death sentence?”

Jaskier’s chest slouched on the table. “Are you asking because you care, or simply out of curiosity?” 

"Does it matter?” 

Jaskier grabbed the whetstone from his hand, his thumb lingering lightly on his. From their closeness, Geralt smelled the heat on his skin, as well as his lavish cologne. Despite his best effort not to, he enjoyed the familiar scent.

“It matters to me.” Jaskier chuckled, examining the stone in boredom.

A thought had nagged him for a while now, like a pecking bird, hammering at his skull. 

It was always there, in the back of his mind-

“Since when did men became your cup of ale?”

“And in circle, we go again. It’s quite exhausting.” He rolled his eyes. “Do you really not know, Geralt?”

He had known for a while, now. Deep down, beneath the doubts, pretenses, and lies. 

_He knew._

“You’re-” He sighed, “You’re not interested in Yennefer, are you?” 

“No.” 

Of course, he wasn’t, because that would be ridiculous. 

Geralt had been so dense. 

He nodded slowly, the air now scarce in his lungs. “Jaskier I-” 

“Please don’t ruin it. We both know you’re incapable of honesty, and if you lie to me again, I won’t be above throwing you out of the window.” 

Despite the humor in his tone, Geralt knew he wouldn’t hesitate to do so. The curse had made him quite the bully, after all.

“Why him?” He asked, instead. 

“You never met Baron Vess, have you?” 

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Well-” Jaskier paused, the whisper of a smirk on his lips. “He’s handsome- really, really handsome. I couldn’t help myself.” 

“And look at where it got you.” Geralt spat.

The way people described Vess, it was as if he was this murderous, but mythical creature. Like a monstrous unicorn. Geralt would be sorely disappointed If the man turned out to be ordinary.

“Yes, well, nobles tend to be prideful, especially towards the unspeakable. Said I was a sick man before sending me straight to the dungeons.” He scoffed. 

Geralt’s chest throbbed. “You’re not sick, Jaskier.”

“No?” He asked, his hand rubbing along Geralt’s, unashamed. 

“No.” 

“Well, If I wasn’t then, I certainly am now. His eyes shifted red. “If I get the opportunity, I will kill him, Geralt.” 

Not if he got his hands on him first. 

“Leave the monsters to me.” 

Jaskier smiled, “Look at you, ready to protect my honor. Such a gentleman.” 

“It’s the least I can do for a friend.”

x

“We’ve been riding for days. I need a break.”

Whether it was about the journey, the road, the weather, or the people, Jaskier always ended up complaining. As if it was a second nature of his. A habit.

That being said, Geralt couldn't help but worry. 

Like an overprotective hen, fussing over her chicks, that's how Jaskier once described him. 

Maybe he had been right. Maybe, Geralt was really turning into a hen. 

“Alright.” 

They stopped next to a stream. The witcher was checking up on the horses when Jaskier walked up to him.

“Are you perhaps terminally ill?” 

He reached for his forehead as if to take his temperature. 

“I’m not.” Geralt said, brushing him away.

“Are you sure? Because you’d rather die than indulge me.” 

“Roach seemed tired.” He lied, stroking Jaskier’s horse, his fingers running through the black fur. “Found her a name yet?” 

Before leaving for the mines, he had gotten a dark Redanian mare for Jaskier. While the horse was smaller than Roach, she was steady and calm. Perfect to balance out Jaskier's temperament. 

“Rat.”

“Rat?” 

“They eat roaches, don’t they?” He said, eyeing Roach darkly. “Since the master is superior, so shall the name of his steed.”

“Remind me to never give you anything, ever again.” 

Jaskier smiled. “Oh shut up, I can see the amusement in your eyes. You find me funny.” 

“I really don’t.”

He did. Sometimes. 

On occasions. 

“Yes, you do. You think I'm hilarious.” He chuckled. “And we both know you didn't give me this horse out of the goodness of your heart. Someone probably threatened you-"

“It’s a gift.”

Their fingers touched on the mare’s back, barely grazing, like the stroke of a feather.

Neither of them pulled away. 

“Thank you, Geralt,” Jaskier said, his words sweet and intimate, lingering on his lips like honey. “But now, I’m convinced you’re dying.”

Even if he wasn’t, something was definitely wrong with him. 

“Take it.” 

The bard stared at the sword, confused.

“Want me to...” He wavered, examining the blade as if it was some kind of relic. “hold it for you?” 

“No, I want you to take it and follow me. I’m going to teach you some moves.”

He had wanted to do so for a while now. Jaskier was useless when it came to fighting and fend for himself. Without the curse, he would have been dead ages ago. Geralt couldn't let him carry on like that, especially since he wouldn't always be by his side to keep him out of trouble. 

“Mov- moves?” He let go of the sword. “Geralt, I’m not some warrior, I’ve never been in a real fight-”

“You’ve killed twelve men.”

“Yes." He paused. "Exactly. Why bother when I can kill a man with my bare hands.”

“There will be a moment when you won’t be able to just-” 

“Vamp out?” Jaskier scoffed. 

"Yes." Especially after they had let a man escape with his secret. 

“I could always-” He gestured vaguely with his hands. “disappear.”

“Bruxae's invisibility only works if you take your clothes off-” 

_Wait._

Geralt frowned. “Why did you?”

“Did what?” 

“Back in the forest, why did you undress?” 

“The idea appeared to me, I suppose. Like a mirage. The kind men see as they’re about to meet their maker-” 

“Jaskier.” He hissed, grabbing him by the arm. “What are you not telling me?” 

“The Baron h-he wanted to-” The bard sighed, closing his eyes. “please don’t make me say it out loud-”

“Tell me.” 

“There’s a reason why people call him The Ripper, Geralt.” He said, delicately.

_Oh._

“They tried to take...” He looked at Jaskier’s crotch. 

“And they would've succeeded had I not turned invisible. So, you see, I can manage on my own without the way of the sword.” 

Geralt was going to make the Baron pay,

but before that-

He knocked Jaskier off feet with one swift kick. 

“You need training.” 

“Are you even trying?” 

They had been at it for a while now but Jaskier showed no sign of improvement, at all. 

“I am, Geralt, but in case you didn’t know, I never wielded a sword in my life.”

He looked ridiculous. Like he was handling a weapon of mass destruction instead of a simple blade. Eyes wide, hands carefully holding, as if it could explode at any moment.

“Too busy chasing after girls? 

“Too busy studying.” 

Geralt rearranged his shoulder, feeling the muscles tensed slightly under his palm. He guided Jaskier's arm up, holding him in place, his chest brushing against his back. 

Having Jaskier so close to him made it harder to concentrate.

“Must’ve been a boring childhood.” He said. 

Not that Geralt had any, to begin with. 

“Boring? Try dreadful. Temple schools are like torture chambers but with books as instruments of pain. To this day, I still feel the history of the Conjunction on my body as the monks beat me with it. Every single volume. I suppose that’s the price you pay when you come from a prominent family.”

“You, a noble?” Geralt frowned, his hands freezing in place. 

“Don’t look so shocked.” He paused, “What did you expect? I’m well-educated, have a great sense of fashion and I'm especially good looking. Of course, I’m a noble.”

Until now, Geralt hadn’t really wondered about how Jaskier came to be- Jaskier. Now that he did, it made sense. The constant talking, the fancy words- so many of them. Who else but a noble could be such a pain in his ass? 

Curiosity turned into genuine interest. “I take your parents didn’t agree with your vocation.” 

“That’s an understatement. Fortunately for me, my father passed away before I had the chance to disappoint him. But he should be turning in his grave right about now.” 

“Your mother?” He asked, then instructed, “Try swinging it this way.” 

Jaskier gave one pitiful swing before scoffing. “One would expect that over the years, she’d get over it, but no. She is still very cross with me. Sometimes, she writes me letters, about how my songs are giving her nightmares. I wonder what she’d say if she knew what kind of evil befell his son.” He swung the sword in the air a few times before chuckling. “I wager she’d be manic.”

If Jaskier was of noble birth, that meant he had a title, servants, and a manor somewhere. Yet here he was, roaming the countryside, cursed and with a witcher by his side. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” Geralt said, his voice lower than a whisper. “It’s my fault.”

But of course, Jaskier heard him. Enhanced hearing and all that. 

He glanced up.

“It's the path I have chosen and I took every step of the way willingly. Well, except the whole- curse thing, but the rest, was my choice. I was meant to walk around the continent, free.” 

“and poor.”

“A temporary setback. Get us to a real town and I’ll show you just how good my songs are. I’ll be out of that debt quicker than I can say toss a coin.”

x

  
They set camp in a rundown cottage, not far from the main road. The house was well hidden into the wood, away from unwanted attention. The bard was quick to set down his blanket and take out his lute. He hummed, playfully along with the notes, his fingers restless against the cords.

“Are you hungry?” Geralt asked.

The music grew louder.

“Jaskier, don’t force me to make firewood out of your lute.”

The melody stopped as he lowered the instrument, sighing dramatically. 

“How far do you think the curse will progress? I heard that a Bruxa turns completely mad at the scent of blood. Like a rabid addict drooling over his next fix. I suppose I do fit the mold-”

“You’re not an addict yet. It won’t get to that, Yennefer will know what to do.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

“Then we’ll find another way.”

“What if there is no other way?” 

“Jaskier-” He sighed. “Is there a point to all this?”

“I’m just wondering about my future. If I even have one. Can Bruxae have children? Not that I wanted any in the first place- does such a thing as baby vampires exist? I reckon that’d be terrifying. It would, however, make great material for a horror story.”

“Since when do you concern yourself over the matter of children?” 

“I’m not, but it’s not just the children, is it? The food’s bland, the ale too, even the sex is different- overwhelming. I can't control myself without your help- which is deeply embarrassing, now that I think about it. I guess I’m doomed to be alone for eternity.”

“What about your muse, don’t you want to go back to her?”

“The Countess and I are currently finding ourselves diverging in different directions-" 

“So she broke up, again.”

“No, I did.” 

That explained why she was so eager to get him back. 

“Got tired of monogamy?” 

“On the contrary. I am, more or less, giving it a try.” 

“How is that going so far?” He chuckled.

“Poorly. But I’m a determined man. ” He said, almost like a whisper. He looked into Geralt’s eyes. “In any case, what’s with the sudden interest in my conquests. Should I be worried?”

His tone was teasing, but Geralt could see the glint of worry in his gaze.

“I have no interest in your leftovers.”

“Then, where does your interest lays, Witcher?” 

He should’ve looked away, or at least pretend that he wasn't affected by Jaskier's blatant flirting, but he didn’t. 

Instead, he patted the floor next to him and said, “Come here.” 

Jaskier stilled, his hands clutching at his lute. He stood there for a moment, before finally complying.

Geralt took out his knife. “You need to feed.” 

“And here I thought we were making progress.” He sighed. “I can’t, Geralt. It’s not like before- this time the hunger’s different. It feels wrong- tainted.” 

“It’s normal to feel guilt over what happened, but you shouldn’t let it consume you.” 

That was what made Jaskier so human in the first place. His sensibility, his understanding, his respect for humans lives-

“But that’s precisely the problem. I don’t feel guilty. I just want more. More screams, more blood- my body can barely keep still.”

And that was the curse talking. 

“What's the alternative, starving yourself?” He asked. "You'll die." 

"Maybe, but what if I hurt innocent people, Geralt? What if I hurt you?” 

“I hardly count as innocent.”

“Therefore, you deserve pain?” 

“Better me than them.” 

And also that kind of pain wasn’t all that bad. Not that it changed anything, the bard could still drink him to death if he wanted to.

Jaskier snatched the knife from his hand and discarded it in the distance.

“For a man of fewer words, you sure know how to talk big.”

He ripped his sleeve off in one pull. 

“What- are you doing?” He hissed.

“Better you than them, right?” He said, his fangs grazing at his shoulder. Despite his smugness, he still hesitated, his breath hot and tingling above Geralt's skin-

waiting for permission. 

“You won’t hurt me.” 

Jaskier bit down into his shoulder. 

The shivers came first, like thousands of ants roaming on his skin. Geralt didn’t bother holding back his groan since he knew many more would come. 

Better to get it over with. 

“God, you taste good,” Jaskier said, lips brushing against the bite, teasingly. "I can feel your blood making his way down my throat, pooling inside my stomach like melted butter- It’s driving me mad.”

He wasn’t the only one being driven to madness. 

A hand slipped beneath his shirt, exploring his skin in eagerness, nails racking on his side, digging into him-

“Easy.” Geralt groaned. 

The bard left a trail of shallow bites along his arm until it became numb and heavy with lust. 

“You’re the same as a rare and expensive vintage, reserved only for the enjoyment of the royalty.” He announced, moaning after each sip as though savoring a sumptuous meal. 

“Please, shut up.” 

As if being compared to wine wasn’t bad enough, Jaskier decided to carry on with his ridiculous analogy. By the time he made it to high-priced cheese, Geralt stopped paying attention. He guided the bard into his lap, pulling his body flush against his own.

Jaskier bit again, this time higher, closer to his neck and Geralt melted. His blood boiled with need and before he knew it, his hands were on Jaskier's ass, _squeezing_. 

“Geralt!” He yelped, his body trembled in his grip.

It wasn't just about feeding Jaskier anymore, Geralt was enjoying it- way too much. His control was like a distant notion in the very back of his mind, now forgotten.

A hot tongue lapped along his neck, followed by wet and hungry kisses,

Geralt’s resolve crumbled even more. 

“Wait-” He said.

But Jaskier didn’t, instead, he leaned in, lips parted, reaching for a kiss-

Geralt panicked.

“Don’t.” He said, holding Jaskier’s face away.

Any more and he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. 

The bard pulled back, very slowly, 

and asked in a weak and trembling voice, 

“Do I disgust you that much?” 

“Jaskier.” Geralt sighed, panting next to the bard's ear. “I will have you on this floor.” 

“Oh. _oh_.” Jaskier’s brow rose instantly, almost in a comical way. He glanced around the room. “We don’t have oil but I’m sure w-we could improvise-” 

He led the bard's hand against the bulge in his pants. “That wasn’t an invitation, it was a warning.” 

The bard’s reaction was immediate. He looked down, eyes wide. 

“Tell me that’s not-”

Geralt silenced him with a soft kiss on the cheek. While it was no more than a graze, it made his heart flutter. 

“I’ll sleep outside.” 

The cool air would do him good. 

x

  
The Red Mines were not as empty as one would expect from a place infested by wraiths. Soldiers had set up camp around the mines, erecting Lord Vaslon’s flag everywhere they could, as if one flag wasn’t enough to tell who they work for. 

“You think she’s really here?” Jaskier asked, gazing at the camp in annoyance.

A soldier spotted them as soon as they approached. 

“Who goes there?” 

“Geralt of Rivia. Witcher.”

The man's relief was instant. “Ah, finally some good news!” 

“Wait, we’re not here for the-” Jaskier was quickly interrupted by the man’s enthusiasm. 

“Follow me, the General will want to see you.” 

  
“This Witcher is here for the wraiths.” The soldier announced, guiding them inside a spacious tent. 

“Actually-” Geralt said, “I’m here for her.”

She turned around, her long black hair swinging elegantly, like ink spilling over paper.

“You got to be fucking kidding me.” 

There she was, in all her glory,

Yennefer of Vengerberg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is longer than usual, hope yall like it,
> 
> Drop em comments and kudos down below <3
> 
> ALSO, If anyone is interested, you can follow me on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/ErikaBee9)
> 
> I retweet. A lot. Cheers! :D


	11. Chapter 11

Yennefer stood fearlessly alongside the soldiers; like a queen in a room filled with ants. She could crush any of them with her heel—at any moment.

That’s how dangerous she was.

“I can’t get rid of you two, can I?” She asked, her voice cutting through the thick tension like a dagger. “Everyone out.”

An order, rather than a suggestion. The commander was the first to leave, followed by the rest of his men, like a pack of mute dogs.

Yennefer broke the silence.

“How did you find me? No—never mind, I don’t care. Why are you here? I recall telling you we were over.”

That much, Geralt had understood over the months. But hearing it out loud, spoken with such disinterest, still hurt. Like hooks digging into his chest. A reminder of what he had lost because of his own selfishness.

“I’m not here for…” He paused, the words _us_ hesitant on his tongue. “That.”

“What, then? Because there are about thousands of people I’d rather see than you and your pet dog.”

“Oh, don’t worry Yennefer. You’re not the only one who’d rather be elsewhere.” Jaskier scoffed.

“Is that so?” She glanced at Geralt, a cold smirk on her lips. “Seems to me that someone is quite eager for my attention—”

“Jaskier’s cursed.” He said.

They had come this far, he didn’t want to waste time on petty bickering.

She frowned, “Well, I didn’t expect that. Then again, it’s you two we’re talking about.” Yennefer turned to Jaskier, giving him throughout glance from head to toe. “You really did it this time.”

She reached for the bard’s face, but before her fingers could even graze at the skin, Jaskier slapped her hand away.

“Jaskier.” Geralt warned. “Easy.”

While Geralt wouldn’t mind watching Jaskier have his ass handed to him, he’d rather not stand by as the bard dug himself an early grave. Threatening Yennefer was the same as poking a very big bear with a very small stick; unmistakably deadly. 

“Someone’s on edge.” She said, rolling her eyes back.

“You have no idea.” Jaskier spat.

“So if I understand correctly, a male Bruxa attacked Jaskier and then instead of killing him, which, in my opinion, would’ve been the reasonable thing to do, started blabbering nonsense about making him his?”

They both nodded.

“And none of you thought, ‘oh, that’s weird’?”

They shook their heads.

“You’re a witcher, didn’t you think it was odd that the Bruxa was holding a dagger to its own wrist?”

“If I stopped to question every odd thing monsters did, I’d get killed.”

“You’re shit at your job.”

“My job is killing monsters. I killed it.” He grunted.

“Yet, you missed one.” She said, eyeing Jaskier darkly.

“Yen—” Geralt began.

“Don’t.” She scowled. “I’m not above setting you on fire where you stand.”

“You wouldn’t. Who’d take care of your wraith problem then?”

“Who says I have one?”

“You’re still here, aren’t you? That’s proof enough. To think mere specters could get the better of the great Yennefer of Vengerberg”

She took a step forward.

“Whether dead or alive, no one gets the better of me.”

They glare at each other for a moment before Jaskier cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Hello. I’m still here in case anyone was wondering or should I just—” He shrugged. “leave and give you two some privacy?”

“Please do—”

“Stay.” Geralt said dryly.

“Should I bark too?”

“Isn’t that what you usually do?” Yennefer asked.

Jaskier eyes flashed red. He lifted one of his fine brows in arrogance, before flipping her off.

“Oh, very eloquent.” She said dryly.

“What can you tell us about this mess?” Geralt sighed.

She took a long sip of wine. “In the years that followed the Conjunction, male Bruxae were as common as female ones. But as time went by, their population thinned drastically.”

“Why?” Jaskier asked.

“They mate for life, unlike the females. Once their partner dies, they follow them into the grave.”

“They’d rather die than live without their loved one. How romantic.”

“No wonder why they’re going extinct.” Geralt added.

“But that still doesn’t explain why it went after me? I mean, I’m neither female nor vampire.”

“You sang to it, did you not? Back in the Willow, and then at the inn. That’s how their courtship ritual works. Once the song is accepted—they mate.”

“We didn’t—” Jaskier whitened.

“No? If I was to trust the rumors, nowadays, it would seem you go for anyone—or anything.” 

“I didn’t.” He hissed.

“Well, even if you had, you were only human. Both species are incompatible.” She paused, chuckling dryly. “It did the only thing it could to keep you by its side. It cursed you. How romantic.”

Geralt turned to Jaskier, sighing. “You had to sing to it, didn’t you?”

“In case you forgot, singing is what I do for a living, Geralt!”

“And look where it got you.”

“And who suggested we go _hunt a vampire_ —”

“Are you two fucking done?” She growled.

They both stopped, freezing.

“This curse, do you know anything about it?” Geralt asked after a while.

“Blood curses are very versatile. Unless I examine Jaskier more closely, I can’t say for sure. But what I can tell you is that it wasn’t completed. Had the Bruxa managed to finish the ritual before you slew it, you’d be bringing me a corpse.” She smirked at Jaskier. “A shame, you would’ve made good leather for my boots.”

“What do you m-mean a corpse?” 

“The purpose was to bound. Change you just enough so you wouldn’t quite qualify as human anymore. A way to bypass the very essence of its instincts. Your life would’ve been tied to the Bruxa’s. If it had died—” She smiled. “you would've followed. Very song worthy, don’t you think?” 

“So, I’m like a hybrid?” 

Of course, that was the only thing Jaskier had chose to pay attention to. 

“More like a mistake.”

“Since when did you become an expert on Vampires, anyway?” Jaskier muttered pettily. “Or curses, for that matter. I thought you were only interested in money and bloodshed”

“When you live long enough, you find yourself running out of hobbies.”

“Isn’t this where you’re supposed to tell us how to lift it?”

She raised a brow. “Why would you want to lift it?”

“What other choice do I have—live with it?”

“Why not? You wouldn’t age, you’d be stronger, faster, powerful—human is boring if you ask me. And from what I heard, you’re no less than a dead man walking. This curse might be the only thing standing between life and death.”

“Alright, that’s enough—” Geralt said. “stop filling his head with delusions.”

He knew very well that life never gave gifts without asking for something in return. For Yennefer and him, it had been children.

For Jaskier, it could be anything. His emotions, his mind—his humanity. A price would have to be paid.

“Is it true about you and Vess?” Yennefer lip’s pursed into a sadistic smile. “Did you really—”

“Oh, I’m not playing this game.” Jaskier snapped.

“Does he know?” She glanced at Geralt. 

Something shifted in Jaskier’s eyes. Like a shadow looming down on a sunny land. He rose from the chair slowly.

“Calm down.” Geralt said.

“Yennefer, speak of this and I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” She asked, her eyes turning into a violet glow.

“Jaskier.” Geralt sighed, feeling his patience running out. “Go check on the horses.”

They scowled at each other, motionless, like two predators in a face-off.

It was Jaskier who backed down. “Right. I’ll just—leave you to it, then.”

Geralt waited until the bard was out of earshot before turning to Yennefer, a disapproving look on his face.

“You shouldn’t poke him like that. You haven’t seen what he’s capable of. This curse—it’s dangerous.”

“Since when are you two fucking?”

The question cut him off guard. 

He froze.

“We’re not.”

“No? Then why are you playing the overprotecting lover?”

“He’s my friend.” He said, regretting the words as they left his mouth.

“Friends now, is it? Last I’ve heard, you were yelling on top of King Niedamir’s mountain, about how you wished destiny took him off your hands. Things sure progressed quickly.”

“Can you lift it, or not?”

“Of course I can. Blood curses are pretty simple to lift once you figure out their purpose.”

“But?”

“But I’m not in the business of charity. You help me and I’ll help you.”

“The wraiths?”

She nodded. “Lord Vaslon promised me quite the treasure to get rid of those things. It should've been an easy job but they're very clingy. Reminds me of you.”

“Fair enough.”

She left the table to join his side, her black dress trailing behind her, like the wings of a raven.

Yennefer was breathtaking. As always.

“Aren’t you a bit curious to know what happened between them?”

The words were teasing on her lips as if luring Geralt into a topic he knew he should be avoiding.

“No.”

He wouldn’t take the bait. Whatever happened, it was none of his business.

“Are you sure? It’s quite the story.”

One that Jaskier didn’t wish to share with him, willingly.

“Jaskier’s affairs are no concern of mine.”

“Your loss.” She chuckled, running her finger along his chest. “But I still don’t understand why you bother. From what you told me, he only survived this long because of the curse. He’ll get killed as soon as he’s human again.”

“I’ll deal with Vess.”

“How?”

“I have a plan.” He sighed. “Countess de Stael has a plan. All I have to do is get Jaskier to her and she’ll take care of it.”

Even now, he couldn’t help but confide in her. While they may not share the same bond as before, Yennefer was still someone important to him.

“I suppose Jaskier isn’t aware of that part.”

“He doesn’t need to be.”

Her smile turned bitter. “Just like I didn’t need to be told about the Djin. Still playing God, I see.”

Her breath lingered against his face, consuming and ardent, like a fire in the middle of a freezing winter. He wanted to take comfort in her familiar warmth but—

those days were over.

He pulled away. “It’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?” 

“Is the deed done?”

Jaskier was tending to the horses when Geralt joined him.

“Yes—no. Actually, we’ll be here for a while. I got wraiths to take care of.”

“Marvelous.”

Their tent was ridiculously spacious and no doubt created by Yen’s powerful magic. While it didn’t lack in any utilities or luxuries, only one bed stood in the middle of the room. Large and imposing, with sumptuous crimson sheets and white petals sprinkled all over them.

Her sense of humor hadn’t changed one bit.

“Yennefer’s doing?” Jaskier asked.

The witcher nodded, letting their bags fall on the floor. While their journey had been long and tiring, it had been nothing compared to meeting Yennefer again. His energy had been completely drained.

“Well, someone loves you.” He scoffed. “I’ll go heat some water.”

“I’ll help you.” Geralt said, reaching for one of the buckets in the bard’s hand.

“I can do it on my own, Geralt.”

He paused, his finger trailing on Jaskier’s.

“We’re here for you, remember?”

“So you keep telling me.”

“I just want to make sure you don’t—misunderstand.”

“That boat has already sunk I’m afraid.” He said, eyeing the room with disdain.

“Jaskier.” He grabbed him more firmly. “We’ll leave the moment the curse’s lifted.”

“Why don’t we just leave right now?”

“I know you and Yennefer aren’t on good footing—”

“Maybe she’s right. What would be the point of lifting this curse if I got killed as soon as we do?”

“Oh, now she’s right, is she?” Geralt grunted. “Bruxae lifespans are dragging and bloody. Trust me when I say you’re better off as a human.”

“How would you know? You actually have no idea what it’s like to be human. It’s miserable, Geralt. Every night I see Vess in my nightmares, hiding in the shadows of my mind, waiting for a chance to kill me. Then I wake up and realize; whether it’s by his’ hands or not, I’ll still end up suffering a wretched death. Like everyone else.”

“Everything dies, Jaskier. That’s just the way it is.”

“But not you.”

“Even a life as long as mine will end, at some point.”

“Yes,” Jaskier nodded quietly. “but long after I’m gone. Are you okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He frowned.

“You’ll have to bury me, mourn me, and then if you’re lucky, forget about me.”

“Even if I wanted to, I highly doubt I’ll be able to forget about you Jaskier.”

He never forgot about Renfri or everyone he had lost so far. Everyone that mattered.

“Well—not at first. No, it’ll start with the small stuff, like my favorite meal or the clothes I used to wear. Then, as time goes by, you won’t be able to recall the sound of my voice. You’ll try, but it won’t really be the same. The tone will be off, like a lute out of tune.”

Jaskier entwined his arms around Geralt’s neck. He leaned on the tip of his toes.

“Then, my face will start to blur, a smudge of ink on a white and untitled piece of paper. You won’t remember the shape of my nose, the color of my eyes, the taste of my lips against your own—”

His lips were almost on Geralt’s. So close yet so distant, like the rustling of a touch.

“You’ll discard me in the back of your mind, like an old memento. And that’ll be it. I’ll be gone—poof. Like I never existed.”

He pulled back slowly,

“If our roles were reversed, I know I wouldn’t be okay with that.”

The scent of Jaskier’s flowery soaps and lotions invaded the tent like a Nilfgaardian army. Strong and ruthless, and without mercy for Geralt’s delicate nose.

“Geralt,” Jaskier called from behind the panel. “Could you pass me the red bottle in my bag?”

“Which one?” He sighed.

“The dark one.”

“They’re all the same.” He said, digging inside the bag in annoyance.

“The one you like.”

He handed the cherry-scented soap to the bard while making sure to avoid eye contact. Or any contact, for that matter.

Especially toward his exposed body.

Jaskier reached for his wrist as he was leaving.

“Wait. Help me with my hair.” His smile was soft, almost teasing.

“Are your bones broken?”

“I’m exhausted. Please?”

Geralt took a seat next to the tub, letting the soap spill into his hands before applying it in Jaskier scalp. Rather angrily.

“Be gentler, you beast.”

“Jaskier—don’t test me.”

He started massaging the bard’s head slowly, and with care, allowing his fingers to run free in the soft curls.

Jaskier let out a long breath. “Wraiths, huh. How do we feel about that?”

“There’s no we. Tomorrow I go inside the mines alone.”

“When you say alone, you mean, you, the soldiers and Yennefer, right?”

“It’s safer if you stay at camp.”

“For me or for them?” He scoffed.

“For me. I can’t afford to get distracted by your nonsense. You’ll get the both of us killed.”

“Shut up, you love my nonsense. It gives you an excuse to rough me up.”

“I don’t need an excuse to do that.”

“No?” He grinned. “I’m coming, regardless. I’ll be damned if I miss the opportunity to see wraiths with my own eyes.”

Geralt’s fingers tightened in his locks.

“It may be the last thing you see.”

“Are witchers always so menacing toward their friends?

“I wouldn’t know, witchers aren’t usually in the habit of carrying dead weight around.”

Jaskier raised his leg above the water, resting his heel delicately on the tub’s edge.

“Then I should count myself lucky. I get to have one all to myself.”

Geralt tried not to let his eyes stray—

but they did.

“You can rinse now, Geralt.” He said.

“Since when did I become your servant?”

“Do you have a problem with serving me?” There was no shyness in his tone, only desire. And suddenly, the room grew very hot.

"Don't force me to drown you in your bath.” He said, his face now close to Jaskier’s neck.

He breathed in the sweet scent, enjoying the way Jaskier squirmed at the attention. 

“That would be awfully r-rude.”

He left a soft kiss on the nape of his neck.

An apology of some sort, for earlier.

Despite his beliefs, the prospect of losing Jaskier did make him unusually uneasy.

The bard finished his bath rather quickly after that. 

As Geralt was about to do some overdue mending on their bags, Jaskier called for him. Again.

“Geralt, I need your assistance with the ointment.”

“Can’t you do it on your own?”

“I could, but you’re the one who spanked me like a madman in the middle of a forest. It will be your fault if my buttocks suffer any scarring.”

He handed him the bottle before lying on the bed, waiting and—

very much naked. 

This was a bad idea.

As soon as the ointment touched his skin, Jaskier shivered.

“It’s cold.” He complained. “Don’t just leave it there—rub it.”

_Rub it—_

Geralt hesitated above the skin, feeling the beginning of a flush creeping on his neck. This was different. Too intimate. No toxin was involved yet he could feel a dim lust growing in the pit of his stomach.

He wanted to do way more than just rub it.

He massaged the skin slowly and thoroughly, savoring the full extent of Jaskier’s smooth cheeks against his palms. 

Too smooth.

The injuries were healed and whatever was left of them wasn’t visible to the naked eye.

The bard was playing him.

So Geralt did the same. He abandoned Jaskier’s glossy backside and slide a hand into his hair, grabbing painfully.

“Ehm, I don’t think the bruises go this far.”

He hummed. “We both know there’s no bruises to tend to, Jaskier. Either you tell me what all this is about or I’ll hurt you.”

The bard let out a dramatic sigh. “I’m days away from becoming a crumpled shamble of a man. My skin will wrinkle, I’ll lose my hair—my teeth too. The least we can do is take advantage of my youthfulness while it lasts.”

So that’s what it was all about.

Life was a fleeting thing, that’s why it was so beautiful in the first place. Geralt wasn’t ready to let Jaskier gamble it away on an impulse.

“You’re right.” 

The bard was a sight to behold. The ointment had made his skin lustrous and plumped and Geralt just wanted to dig in- 

He grabbed at Jaskier’s backside without reserve. 

“We should definitely take advantage of that youth.”

Their eyes locked. Jaskier nodded lightly.

“Please.”

Geralt stroked and rubbed at the cheeks as if they were expensive dough, leaving Jaskier restless with want, his breathing labored and dragging. The bard thrust into the bed shamelessly, looking for any amount of friction he could get.

“Stop squirming.” Geralt ordered, voice strained. “Keep your hips off the bed.”

When Jaskier didn’t, he delivered a small slap on his backside. A warning rather than a punishment. The bard’s shoulders shook instantly. A long shiver traveled across his whole body, his back arched, leaning into his touch,

wet moans escaped his lips—

he was beautiful.

The witcher could feel himself hardening at the sight.

“Geralt—I need to come.” He whined.

Geralt snaked a knee between his legs, spreading them even further apart. God, he was about to have Jaskier right here and then.

“I could take you on this very bed. Fuck you until your leg gave out and you ached for nothing but my cock pounding inside of you.” Geralt’s tone was slow and teasing in his ear. “Would you like that?”

“Dear Lord, yes,” Jaskier nodded fervently. “but not here.”

He slid a hand between his cheeks, rubbing softly at the tender flesh. “No?”

“Yennefer made this room.”

“And this mattress, yet you have no problem humping it like a dog in heat.”

He glanced back, “It’s not the same thing, please—just touch me.”

His eyes had a red gleam in them. Hungry and desperate. Geralt could tell the bard was at his limit, but, for some reason, he wanted to push him even further. 

He raised Jaskier's back into a delicious angle before reaching for his cock.

“Bloody hell—”

Jaskier melted in his grip. Geralt smelled the pleasure on his skin, hot and feverish and intense. So intense, parts of his skin started shifting into the shape of the sheets beneath them— 

turning invisible.

“Look at you. You have no control over yourself.” He said, his stroke light and teasing.

“-overwhelming.” He bit out.

Geralt quickened his pace until Jaskier’s spine was but a puddle. “Are you hungry?"

Jaskier nodded weakly.

“Tell me how much."

“I could drain this whole camp up.” He said, followed by a long string of moans. 

Geralt hummed. “Still think whole lifetimes of this kind of thirst is worth it?”

Instead of an answer, Jaskier gripped at the sheets with shaky fingers, shoving his face into the pillow—hiding.

Geralt wouldn’t let him. He pulled Jaskier’s back flush against his chest, leaving hot and hungry kisses on the nape of his damp neck.

“Geralt—” He whimpered. "don’t stop."

Jaskier was so close, he shook frantically into Geralt's arms. 

“Wait—” He whimpered.

His moans grew louder.

“-one’s coming.”

The witcher ignored him, now stroking him in full earnest.

Jaskier came hotly into his fist, turning lax and exhausted against Geralt. 

“Someone’s coming.” He said, this time clearer.

Geralt barely had time to cover Jaskier with a blanket before a young soldier barged in.

“You are summoned by our great commandant to—” The man froze, looking at the bed in confusion.

“Yes?” Geralt asked.

“The great commandant—” He glanced down at Geralt’s crotch, whitening in horror.

“Yes?” Geralt asked again, this time, giving him his darkest glare.

Its meaning clear as day; ’tell one soul about this and I’ll slit your throat.

The man swallowed profusely before nodding.

His answer was also very clear; ‘don’t worry sir, I’ll keep your secret and massive hard on to the grave’

“The commander requests your presence—sir.”

“I’ll be right there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, an update. It's getting hot in there >:) 
> 
> I really appreciate all the support & feedback! It means a lot to me.
> 
> Leave your comments and kudos down below! 
> 
> I also made some light edits- I realized 'Bruxea' was the plurial form of Bruxa, so I changed it accordingly.


	12. Chapter 12

  
Everything about the commandant pissed him off. 

From his smug face to the absurd clothes he wore. Yes, clothes opposed to actual armor, because why would this fraud even bother trying to look the part? His buffoonish outfit and abuse of feathery accessories reminded Geralt of what Jaskier wore when he wanted to impress the ladies.

No wonder Yennefer was having trouble dealing with the wraiths with this imbecile in charge. 

“About a few months ago, some of those tunnels collapsed on the miners. Here—” He said, shoving his bony finger at the map. “near the southern entry. Before we managed to get the bodies out and burned them, the wraiths appeared. Since then, we haven’t been able to get in— or out of the mines.” 

“The wraiths can sense your intents. They won’t let you burn their corpses.”

“Yes, I figured as much when my men started dying like flies.” 

“How many miners died?” 

“Many, I’m afraid.” He shrugged. 

“Any of them had reasons to hold a grudge?” 

“How should I know? I don’t converse with such people.”

Geralt was going to bash the commandant’s head against the table. 

“Is there anyone else I can question? Someone that actually encountered the creatures?” 

_And that had a functioning brain._

“No one comes out of the mines alive.”

“Then how do you know it’s wraiths?” 

“We heard them.” The commandant said, gravely. 

“You heard them—” Geralt sighed. “None of you saw them?” 

Yennefer chuckled between two sips of wine, her exasperation obvious. 

“We didn’t need to, their screams echoed all the way from the tunnels. Like demons trying to lure us into the depth of hell itself. I will avenge my men, Witcher. I won’t rest until every last one of those wretched creatures has been slain. Then, I’ll write the tales of their noble sacrifice—” He paused, eyeing the bard smugly. “or you could write them, Master Jaskier.”

_Of course._

Jaskier this, Jaskier that—their whole journey had been about him, so why stop now?

“Me?” He asked, feigning surprise. 

“Your talent is known all across the continent. It is an honor to finally be able to meet you.” He said, taking Jaskier’s hand to kiss it softly. 

The bard didn’t even bat an eyelash.

“The pleasure is all mine, commandant.” 

He glanced at Geralt, an arrogant smile on his lips.

_Little shit._

“How did a man of your renown end up in this part of the world?” 

“Most legendary stories began in humble settings, such as those ones. My duty is, and always will be, to roam the continent in search of the extraordinary. Perhaps you shall be the hero of my next song, commandant?” 

_Dear Lord—_

“Please. Call me Hector.” He smiled. “I believe destiny has brought you to us, Master Jaskier.” The commandant’s eyes gleamed in joy. “We will storm into the lair of those fiends with you as our guide.”

They were all dead. 

The bard glanced at Geralt in panic, “Thank y-you for the honor Hector, but I’d rather not steal your thunder—”

“Nonsense. I’ve heard of your exploits. You’re a man of legend—it would be a privilege to assist you.” 

“What exploits?” Yennefer asked dryly. “Fucking his way through the aristocracy?”

“He vanquished a creature of pure damnation, by himself.”

_Here it comes—_

“The worst filth to have ever set foot on the continent.” 

Because, no matter what, whatever circumstances—

“A vampire.” 

Trouble always followed them because of Jaskier’s bullshit.

Yennefer’s laughter resonated in the room. “Did you sing to it?”

“I got lucky—” He chuckled nervously. 

“This wasn’t mere luck, you sliced its head off with a single swing of your sword.” He turned to Geralt. “Isn’t that right, Witcher? If I recall the story correctly, you were by his side when it happened—”

“I was.”

“Then, what say you?”

The bard looked into Geralt’s eyes in terror, urging him to say something—anything—to get him out of this mess.

But this time, Jaskier was on his own. 

“He’s the best warrior I have ever laid my eyes upon.” 

“Then it is decided.” The commandant glanced around the room proudly. “A Witcher, a Sorceress, and a man of legend? We shall be unstoppable.”

  
x

The camp bustled with excitement as Geralt browsed through countless maps in search of a safe way to navigate the mines. If he wanted to get out of this alive and have Yen lift the curse, he needed to figure out a solution to get rid of the wraiths without relying too much on the soldiers—or their commander. 

This idiot had absolutely no idea of what he was doing—which is why he had shifted the task on Jaskier under the pretense of destiny. No one in their right mind would ever put the bard in charge of anything, especially not when it concerned the lives of actual people. 

Geralt was focused on his work, unfazed by the commotion around him when the clang of metal caught his attention. Loud and heavy—like the roar of a beast. It wasn’t long before Jaskier appeared before him, wearing an armor that oddly resembled a metal box. 

“What do you think?” He asked.

Jaskier’s was barely recognizable beneath the massive silhouette. The breastplate, carved into the shape of two lions’ heads, looked like breasts, while his sabatons were so pointy, one could stab themselves to death with them.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” 

“Oh don’t be so vulgar. It’s an armor, Geralt.” He spat. “ _Warriors_ use them.”

“You look like you’re about to jump into the sea and become an anchor.” 

“It’s a gift, from Hector.” He explained, a hand rising to his hip. “to thank me for the stories I have shared with him.”

Geralt glared at the armor in disgust.

“You mean, the ones you made up?” 

“All stories are a distortion of the truth, Geralt. Mines just happen to be particularly interesting. He even offered to employ me as his personal storyteller.”

Geralt doubted that storytelling is what the commandant had in mind. 

He hummed. “What’s next, marriage?” 

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Why does everything have to be either white or black with you? He praises me, and I enjoy praise. That’s all.” 

“Then, why are you wearing his armor? Seems to me like you’re after more than just his praise.” 

“Oh—that’s going to be good.” He chuckled dryly. “Go ahead, Geralt, tell me. What am I after?” 

Geralt’s spiteful words sat on the tip of his tongue, like rabid hounds waiting to be unleashed. Speaking now would be the same as declaring war to an already offended Jaskier. So he kept quiet, hoping the bard would eventually get bored and walk away. 

But he didn’t.

“Let me tell you what I think. You hate the fact that someone is finally acknowledging my talent—oh don’t give me that look, you know I’m right—You can’t stand that I’m getting complimented.”

He really couldn’t. It made his blood boil. 

“Well, sorry to break it to you, Geralt, but you can’t always be the center of attention. This time, I’ll be in the front row and this baby—” He slammed his palm against the breastplate, “will keep me safe—”

Geralt put his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder and pushed lightly. The smaller man managed to keep his balance for a brief moment before crashing into the ground in a metallic thud. 

“There’s a limit to what armor can do.” He growled. 

“Not everyone is as brutish as you, Geralt!” 

“Wraiths are.”

Jaskier barely managed to stand on one knee before falling to his side again. Graceless and messy, with his pointy shoes digging deep into the dirt. 

“You can’t even get up. It’s pathetic. Take it off.”

“No.” 

“Jaskier—” He hissed. “I won’t have you walk around in this shit excuse of an armor. You’ll get killed.”

Jaskier lifted his visor in annoyance. “Since when do you care? You’re just pissed because Hector gave it to me.” 

Geralt wasn’t pissed.

He was furious. 

He climbed on top of Jaskier, using his full weight to keep him pinned against the cold ground. He snatched the gantlets off, one after the other, then the helmet.

“Oh brilliant, Geralt. Yes! Let’s undress me in broad daylight.” 

He undid the leather straps, removed the chain mail, the silly boots, the ridiculous breastplate—taking the whole armor apart piece by piece until nothing remained on Jaskier except his underclothes. 

“Satisfied?” He spat. “You big bloody child.”

The witcher wasn’t but for now, it would have to do. 

“This isn’t a game. Once we go in there, we might not come back. No armor can’t make you invincible.” 

“If you’re worried about me—” He said, his tongue brushing against his bottom lip, tauntingly. “Just say so.” 

“Don't provoke me, Jaskier” 

As he tried to rise, not one of his muscles stirred. 

“Fine.” The bard chuckled after a moment. “You can get up, now. You’re crushing my ribs.”

Despite his best effort to do so, he couldn’t. Jaskier’s warmth oozed around him like a smothering blanket. His body felt completely drained. 

“Your pulse is quite fast.” He said, worryingly. “Are you alright?”  
  
Being so close to him was intoxicating as if every breath he took flooded his mind with euphoria. A soft tension settled in the pit of his stomach. 

He glanced down at Jaskier’s fangs, almost apprehensively. 

_Fuck._

He wasn’t alright at all. 

It took a minute for Geralt to regain his composure and when he did, he never bolted away so fast in his life. 

x

It happened again. 

This time, after one of their usual bicker. Geralt had stormed off, determined to put some distance between Jaskier and him when he realized, after three steps, that something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Three single steps away from Jaskier and he went rigid, like an iceberg in the middle of the ocean, bound to the bard by invisible shackles. His skin had burned, as if on fire, filling his mind with a longing so powerful, he almost cave in and turn heels—

But he didn’t. Instead, he ran.

Having no control over his thoughts was one thing, but having no control over his own body? That was a feeling Geralt couldn’t stand.

Yennefer’s face appeared through the curtains. 

“Are you going to come in, or should I wait another hour or so for you to stop twitching in front of my tent?”

After an entire night of aimless roaming around camp, his feet had carried him here.

“Something’s not right.” He said, barging inside the room.

“A lot of things aren’t. You’ll have to be more specific than that, Geralt.” She sighed.

His words stuck in his throat like boulders. He felt ashamed of his own body, betrayed by his own mind—telling her would be the same as admitting he had completely lost control over himself.

He couldn’t do that. Not yet. So, he opted for the second most urging worry on his mind.

“The commandant’s explanation—it makes no sense. Wraiths are born of wrongful deaths.”

“So?” She paused. “Why should I care?” 

“They aren’t born from collapsing tunnels, Yen. They’re created from rage and regret. If it was an accident, why would the miners bother turning into wraiths?” 

“I’m here to exterminate them, not sympathize with them.” 

“You’re not even curious as to why we’re being lied to?” 

“By whom, Hector? He’s an idiot.”

“Vaslon, then?” 

“As long as I’m getting paid, I don’t give a fuck. And if you want your pet fixed, nor should you.” She offered him a drink before slouching in her chair in boredom. “The commandant’s organizing a feast.” She said after a moment. 

“You don’t seem please.” 

“Ale, vomit and drunk men? A bit too uncivilized, even for me. They’ll all die anyway, what’s the point?”

“Their last feast.” He shrugged. “It’ll give them courage.”

“Courage doesn’t win battles.”

“Sometimes, that’s all it takes.” He paused, enjoying the warm wine on his tongue. “and if not, at least they’ll perish with their thirst quenched. A decent death, if you ask me.” 

“Speaking of quenched thirst—I’m curious. Did Jaskier drink from you?” She asked. 

Geralt meant to keep a straight face, he really did. Instead, he choked on his wine.

“He did, didn’t he?” She grinned. “I always wondered what the bite of a Bruxa felt like.” 

“Why don’t you ask him? I’m sure he’d be glad to show you.” He chuckled.

“I would choose eternal damnation before having that drooling cretin anywhere near me.”

His voice hesitated. “It’s—confusing … like your very soul is getting sucked away—” 

in a very, very pleasant way. But of course, that, he didn’t say. 

“That sounds like shit.” 

Just thinking about it made his skin shivered. 

“It’s manageable.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, I’m sure it is. I supposed you agreed willingly to be his food, then?” 

“It’s my fault he got cursed.” 

If Geralt hadn’t interfered with Jaskier’s business and left him at that brothel— 

“Your fault?” She scoffed. “Since when are you responsible for Jaskier’s life?” 

Since Pasada. 

Since the very day, he met the bard and decided to let him tag along. Not that he ever agreed out loud, but he didn’t have to. His silence was agreement enough. 

A witcher’s life was no place for a human, yet Jaskier had insisted to stay by his side. Like a stubborn flea that just wouldn’t leave, no matter what. And Geralt came to enjoy the company of that particular flea, so he decided to keep it safe. 

“Did you ever wonder why you did?”

“Did what—”

“Let him drink from you—isn’t it odd? You kill monsters for a living, Geralt. You’ve been doing so for decades.” 

Geralt frowned. “What are you trying to say?” 

“This affection of yours, it began after Jaskier was bitten, yes? It might just be possible that this sudden shift in your relationship was caused by the curse.” 

Was it sudden?

Jaskier had always been like this. From the very beginning. 

But—

_had he?_

“That’s why you’re really here, is it not? To ask me about this void, growing inside you, urging you to get those pretty fangs back into your flesh—” 

“It’s not.”

“I can tell you’re aching for it.” She pursed her lips in a cruel snare. “Do you want my opinion?”

Despite his best effort not to, Geralt nodded. 

“It’s not real. Magic never is.” 

x

Like hell, it wasn’t. 

To Geralt, it felt very fucking real. His whole body burned every time he was near Jaskier. To a point where he physically couldn’t stand being close to him anymore. The simple thought of breathing the same air as the bard turned his head into mush. 

It had to be the curse, it couldn’t be anything else. While Jaskier wasn’t a true Bruxa, his toxin was as powerful as the real thing. It lingered inside Geralt’s veins like poison, filling him with this constant yearning—

So he made sure to avoid him. At all costs. 

Yesterday it was by hiding around camp. The day before that? Examining the weapons, the armors, the maps; all tasks he knew Jaskier despised.

  
And today—the forest, where he brewed dozens of different potions and elixirs and made enough specter oil so that every soldier could bathe in it if they wished to. 

All this, just to make sure he wouldn’t cross paths with Jaskier. 

The sun was almost down when Geralt decided to head back to camp. He was in the middle of gathering his things when Jaskier emerged from the trees. 

“You’re a very difficult man to find.” He said.

“Clearly not difficult enough.”

The bard approached with a amused look on his face. For each step Jaskier took, Geralt moved further away.

“I caught the scent of Vitrol.” He glanced at Geralt’s feet, a smirk now forming on his lips. “Figured you were making Specter oil.”

His pulse quickened. 

“What do you want?” 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Jaskier’s tone was light yet Geralt couldn’t help but feel the shadow of a threat behind it. 

“I’ve been busy. One of us as to prepare so we don’t die tomorrow. Especially since the commandant put you in charge.” 

“Do you have a problem with me, leading?” 

“You can’t even lead your own life, Jaskier. You have no idea what you’re doing, and neither does he.” 

“But of course, you do, right?” He grabbed Geralt’s iron sword. “In that case—let’s have a bet.” 

“No.” Geralt growled. 

“Oh come on, you haven’t even heard the terms yet.” 

“I’m not interested.”

“Well, I am and we both know you’ll indulge me.” Jaskier smiled. 

Geralt couldn’t even deny it. 

“If I beat you—” 

“You won’t.”

“But if I do, you’re to admit you are wrong, and I’m a great leader and—grant me a request.” He smiled, raising the sword playfully.

“And if I beat you?”

“I’ll stay at camp tomorrow.”

“No request?” 

“You don’t need one to ask anything of me, Geralt.” 

“Fine.” He grabbed his silver sword. “This might hurt.” 

Jaskier lifted the weapon, no doubt mimicking some sort of threatening pose. Geralt didn’t bother holding back. He charged at Jaskier, swinging his sword swiftly, wanting to end this as quickly as possible. 

To his surprise, the bard blocked the hit quite easily. 

His whole stance changed. 

“You’ve been practicing.” Geralt said. 

“You’re the one who said I needed to improve my skills.” 

But even with his newfound balance and confidence, it wasn’t enough to throw Geralt off. The witcher countered every blow with ease, making sure to hit at Jaskier’s sword hard enough so he’d lose his grip. 

And he did. 

The sword slipped from his hand, but before it touched the ground, Jaskier managed to catch it. He thrust the blade forward. Geralt moved out of the way just in time to avoid a very fatal stab to the guts. 

He frowned. “I didn’t teach you this.”

“No.” Jaskier said smugly, “Hector did.”

If his goal was to piss him off, Jaskier had succeeded. 

From this point forward, their fight became a complete and utter annihilation, where Geralt didn’t care about the bet anymore. He just wanted to beat the bard to the ground. 

And he did, very easily. 

A few more hits and Jaskier’s arms grew tired. His blocks got sloppy, his swings weak, and after a particularly strong kick in the back, he flew headfirst into the ground. 

“Next time, why don’t you ask Hector how to parry fucking blows?” 

Jaskier spat out a mouthful of earth.

“You clueless- m-meathead!” He shouted. “If I wanted to have my clothes ruined, I would’ve rolled in the bloody dirt myself.”

“It’s a fight, Jaskier. People get dirty. Clothes get ripped.”

“Yes, but that wasn’t the kind of dirty or ripping I had in mind. I thought we were on the same page, here!”

The witcher paused, staring blankly at him. “You’re the one who suggested we fought—”

“I suggested a bet, Geralt. A. Bet. Not a death match.”

Perhaps he did go overboard, but that was definitely Jaskier’s fault. His very presence had Geralt on edge. Even more so after his talk with Yennefer. Now he wasn’t even sure their relationship was real. 

If he could even call it that. 

“I warned you not to provoke me.” He growled.

“Yes, as you lay on top of me! I thought you meant it in a naughty way—do you even know what flirting is, Geralt?”

Now that he took a closer look at the bard, he noticed that his outfit was particularly fancy. Expensive and vibrant, worthy of an extravagant banquet rather than a military camp. 

And then there was his scent—

as if Jaskier had tried to drown himself in lavender essence. 

“I know there’s a time and a place for it. And unless your goal is to attract a swarm of bees, you should wash off that perfume of yours.” 

“Alright.” He said, jumping to his feet. “You want to fight, we’ll fight, Geralt.” 

Jaskier’s pupils turned red and he pounced forward. As the witcher swung his sword down, he noticed two things. 

One, Jaskier wasn’t armed anymore.

Two, Geralt was going to slice him in half. 

He stopped his sword mid-thrust. 

Jaskier grinned at his mistake. It only took one kick to make Geralt lose his balance. Before he could recover from his fall, Jaskier’s claws were against his throat.

“I win.”

“You cheated.” Geralt grunted. 

“There’s no such thing as cheating when it comes to a battle. I simply outwitted my enemy. And now,” he said, leaning in. “I get to collect my prize.” 

“What do you want?” Geralt muttered, his voice unusually raw. 

“Let me drink from you.” He glanced at the witcher’s neck, one of his sharp nails stroking at his skin, teasingly. “I’m starving.”

Geralt flinched.

“Now?”

“I got enough dirt in my mouth for one day, thank you. No. Tonight, when you’re all cleanup and nice. What do you say?” 

Yennefer had been right.

“Fine.” 

He was aching for it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, you guys! The last few weeks have been quite hetic with school and everything -_-
> 
> Anyway, I hope yall enjoy the update, let me know in the comments! <3


	13. Chapter 13

The ale had been flowing for a while now. The soldiers were dancing and singing clumsily, like a bunch of fishes out of the water. The feast was livelier than Geralt had anticipated. 

Not only had Jaskier’s been put in charge of tomorrow’s raid but the commandant had also insisted he entertained the crowd. And entertained he had. Song after song, until most of the soldiers, were either passed out or too drunk to sing along. Even then, he didn’t stop. He stood in the middle of the room, his smile so bright, it urged everyone to pay attention to his every word. 

As if he glowed.

And of course, the little shit enjoyed the attention. His smugness radiated around him like a blazing inferno. Everyone who got too close could probably turn to ash or something. 

Geralt hadn’t noticed the singing had stopped until Jaskier was by his side.

“What’s with the grumpy face, didn’t like the show?” Jaskier asked, chugging down his ale.

Geralt tensed up. “It was bearable.”

“Then why do you look like someone pissed in your cup?” 

Because you’re way too close? Geralt could smell the scent of wild roses coming from the bard, feel the soothing heat from his skin— 

It was rather distracting. 

“I’m just concerned about tomorrow’s raid.” 

Jaskier nodded slowly. “Still think I’ll lead us to our deaths?”

“That or the commandant will.”

Speaking of that idiot— 

Hector was staring at Jaskier from across the room, like a lovesick puppy, begging for attention. He had been doing so for the last hour, and Geralt was minutes away from crossing the distance and just—beat him.

“We simply need to burn those bodies, how hard can it be, really? I witnessed you take down greater beasts. We’ll be alright.” 

While he appreciated the faith Jaskier put in him, the man was too carefree. Geralt wouldn’t always be there to protect him. Especially since Jaskier had the tendency of creating messes faster than one could solve them.

“You seem to have an admirer.” Geralt spat. 

Jaskier’s gaze shifted on the commandant. “I have a lot of admirers, Geralt. It shouldn’t come as a surprise. I’m famous.” 

_Famous._

Geralt had never noticed it before. Not really. Not to that extent. Now that he had, it felt as if Jaskier had suddenly been thrown into a pit of starved wolves. 

The witcher didn’t get what all the fuss was about. Yes, Jaskier was talented. Yes, he was a decent singer, but he wasn’t the best—nor the most innovative. 

Nothing worth attracting all those hungry glances. 

“The last time we met one of your so-called admirers, he cursed you. So excuse me if I’m a bit on edge.”

“You do seem on edge.” He grinned. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

But Geralt had to admit, the little shit knew how to seduce. Even the smallest shift in his tone could provoke the darkest urges in him. And Jaskier was handsome—in his own, annoyingly smug way. 

“Yes.” He said, voice rough. “Stop pestering me.” 

“We’ve shared but a few sentences in the last few days, Geralt. How, pray tell, am I pestering you?” 

_By literally being here._ The proximity was turning Geralt’s mind into a puddle. Jaskier was way too close. 

“You don’t need a full sentence to get on my nerve. One word from you is enough. Go away.” 

Despite his best effort to sound cold and uncaring, his voice wavered. 

“How about, no?” An arrogant smile appeared on Jaskier’s lips as he dipped his hand beneath the table. “I wonder, Geralt. For a man who’s deemed to be emotionless, when did you become such an open book?” 

And when had the night turned so damn hot? 

Jaskier’s hand was on his thigh before Geralt could stop him. He didn’t move it, he just left it there, heavy and motionless against his leg.

Like it had always belonged there.

Heat rose to his neck.

“ _Stop_.” 

Right now, is control was no more than a dying flame. 

“Stop what? I’m not doing anything.” He said, shameless and unrepentant. After a moment, he gradually made his way up. 

Geralt grabbed his wrist. 

Any more and he would drag Jaskier back to their tent and show him exactly why he shouldn’t tease a witcher. 

“We’re in public.” His voice was no less than a growl. 

The soldiers were too busy getting shit faced to pay them any mind, but it would only take one look in their direction to figure out what was going on.

“Aren’t witchers supposed to be more adventurous than that?”

There it was again. This ache inside him, lulling him toward the bard. Suddenly, he didn’t care about getting caught, he just wanted to teach him a lesson. 

“I will bend you over this table, Jaskier.” He whispered hotly in his ear. 

His pink flush was instantaneous. And beautiful, as the bard squirmed under his grip. While Jaskier was quite the seducer, Geralt had been around longer than he had. He knew a thing or two about seduction too. 

“Do it, you coward.” 

The witcher never could resist a challenge.

“How about we go elsewhere?” Geralt asked.

The further away Jaskier was from those savages, the better. 

The smaller man looked up, a flash of red glowing in his eyes. His lips parted, the shadow of an answer on his tongue, when Hector rose up from his seat. 

“Tomorrow we shall force those creatures of darkness back into the hell they came from, and free the mines of their iron grip. We will be victorious. For Lord Vaslon!” 

Geralt was going to murder that pompous jerk— 

As if their vigor had been revived, the soldiers shouted in unison. Jaskier slowly pulled away, hiding his embarrassment behind his cup as he drank.

“Bard, another song!” 

He let out a soft sigh before rising from his seat. “Purse out, gentlemen.” 

The next hour proved to be very challenging for Geralt. He knew how good Jaskier looked right now, with the hem of his shirt undone and his clothes hugging the shape of his body like a second skin.

Geralt had to physically force himself to stay on his chair as the soldiers stared openly at the bard’ ass every time he turned. 

“Sing us something dirtier!”

And of course, Jaskier complied, singing one of his more graphic ballads about a maiden wandering inside the lair of a beast. The witcher was busy sending dark glares around the room, a sinister frown on his face when Yennefer joined him. 

“You look like a man who has murder on his mind.” She said.

He had way more than simple murder on his mind. He had slaughter. Mass slaughter. 

“You don’t do barbaric feasts.”

“Well, I changed my mind.” She shrugged. “I figured your company was better than no company at all.”

Geralt hummed dryly.

The songs went on and so did Geralt’s drinking. Being completely wasted was the only way he could survive the evening. 

“You’re hitting it hard tonight.” Yennefer smiled. “How about we find another way to relieve some of that tension?” 

Geralt was in no mood for her games, especially not when he was about to stab everything that had a pulse. A bitter grin appeared on his lips. 

“I thought we were over?” 

“For old time’s sakes? Come on, you’ve been traveling for so long, we both know whores and peasants can’t satisfy you. Not really.” She slid her palm along his arm. “You’re craving for it, I can tell.” 

Geralt couldn’t deny, he was sometimes on the thicker side. But if there was one thing he knew, drunk or not, Yennefer never was one to show her affection publicly unless—

unless they had a relevant audience. 

His eyes found Jaskier as he was chatting lively with the commandant.

Something ugly flared inside him.

“Think you could handle me?” 

The bard flinched at his words. 

“You know I always do.” She smirked. “I don’t mind the roughness.” 

But she wasn’t the one Geralt wanted to get rough with. At all. 

The commandant pulled Jaskier closer, now hushing into his ear. No doubt an open invitation to his bed. A moment later, the bard was guided outside the tent. 

Geralt saw red. 

Yennefer retracted her hand. “Aren’t you going to see what’s all that about?”

The witcher followed with clenched fists.

As soon as he stepped outside, he pulled Jaskier away from the commandant.

Geralt needed to get him away from this idiot. 

Away from all of them. 

“What—are you doing?” Jaskier asked, glancing at Hector nervously. 

“What are **_you_ **doing?” He hissed. “Think because you follow him to bed he’ll throw another armor your way?”

God, something was definitely wrong with him. Even his own words felt foreign on his tongue. As if someone else was speaking. 

_Someone cruel._

“I’m a grown man, Geralt. I’ll do what bloody pleases me. So why don’t you and your stupid assumption go fuck right off.” 

The commandant raised his hands in a calming manner. “I fear that this is all a misunderstanding, Witcher. I was simply inviting Jaskier to look over tomorrow’s plans—”

Geralt punched him straight in the face. 

The man fell down, clutching at his nose in silence. Then—nothing. He didn’t get up. He just laid there, unmoving. 

Geralt frowned.

_What a wuss._

Jaskier ran to his side. “What is the matter with you, you beast?” He gaped. 

Once he made sure the commandant had a pulse, he sat his unconscious body against a rock. 

“He deserved it.” Geralt said, crossing his arms.

While he tried to look as nonchalant as possible, all he wanted to do was go back and beat up everyone who had dared laid their filthy eyes on the bard. 

“Ever since we got here, you’ve been acting differently. And now this—” Jaskier sighed. “I’m not stupid, Geralt! I don’t need enhanced senses to notice that something’s wrong. Just tell me what this is really about.” 

“I don’t need a reason to beat someone up.” 

“Tell me honestly.” Jaskier took a step forward. “Are you jealous?”

“I’m not…” _Oh God_ , “Jealous?”

His heart was like a drum inside his chest, pounding so loudly, his rib cage was about to burst open. 

_he was._

And knowing Jaskier’s acute hearing, he had to know. 

“Are you two done or should I give you a moment to fuck it out?”

Yennefer approached slowly, taking her dagger out of her belt. And by the look on her face, she definitely knew as well. 

Jaskier had turned him into a complete mess.

“Wait- w-what are you doing?” The bard asked. 

“Slicing his throat?” She said, eyeing the commandant as if about to perform a tedious task. 

They both paused. 

“What—why?”

“Isn’t obvious? There’s no way I’m splitting the reward with this idiot. Better kill him now and be done with it. I’ll burn his body to ash so they’ll think he ran—” She turned to Geralt. “Didn’t you want him dead too?—”

So that’s what it was all about. 

The witcher shook his head. Killing Hector would be like admitting the man got under his skin. Hurting him was way more satisfying. 

Jaskier’s demeanor shifted darkly. Like an ominous cloud appearing over a clear sky.

“That’s not happening, you murderous wench.” He hissed. 

Geralt should’ve laid off the ale—his mind was nowhere near sharp enough to deal with this. He grabbed awkwardly at the bard. 

“Let’s go—”

Jaskier punched him right in the guts. 

“You’ve done enough. Shut up.” 

His stomach churned in pain. Another blow and Geralt would be puking his dinner on the ground. He sat next to the commandant, determine to just wait out the storm. 

“Get out of my way,” Yennefer ordered.

“No.” He said. “The commandant has been nice to us since we got here! He might be an imbecile, but that doesn’t mean he deserves death—” He turned to Geralt, glaring. “Right?” 

Geralt knew better than to argue with him right now. 

“Leave the man be, Yennefer. It’ll give you no more pleasure than killing a pup.” 

“Is that supposed to discourage me?-” She sighed, glancing at Hector. “Marvelous, now he’s waking up.”

The commandant stirred from his slumber. As soon as his eyes opened, he bolted. He was a useless coward, but Geralt had to admit, his survival instincts were unmatched. Jaskier caught up with him in a flash. He grabbed him by the throat before neither of them could make a move.

“Forget what just happen.” He instructed. “Go back to sleep.”

As he let go, Hector slipped right back into unconsciousness. 

“What the fuck.” Yennefer said after a while. 

Jaskier’s eyes shined so brightly, a crimson hallow appeared around his head. His body seemed to be reacting by instincts, just like back in the forest when he had managed to turn invisible. Geralt had no doubt about it,

his abilities were progressing. 

“Shit.” She said. In a few strode Yennefer was by his side, grabbing him by the arm, examining his eyes closely. 

“What do you mean—shit? Is he alright?” Geralt asked. 

“I’m fine.” He said dryly, shrugging off Geralt’s concern with a single glare. 

“How did you do that?” She asked. “An incomplete curse shouldn’t have that kind of power—”

“Just get Hector back to his tent, please. Harm him and I’ll make sure you never see a glimpse of that reward of yours.” He hauled the witcher up to his feet. “We’re going to bed.” 

And just like that, Geralt was dragged away like a grounded child. 

When they got to their tent, Jaskier let go of him coldly. 

“You have no right—”

“Jaskier look, I’m—” _Sorry?_ He wasn’t. Hector deserved that punch. He was lucky Geralt didn’t strangle him to death. “He’s going to be fine.” 

Sadly. 

“-no right at all to be jealous, Geralt.” 

The witcher froze. 

“I wasn’t—” He scoffed, gesturing vaguely in the air. “Why would I be…”

“All you do is brood in the dark and throw insults my way every chances you get, like a child—that’s what you are Geralt! A child.” He said, shoving his finger against his chest. “Why not try being nice to me for a change, huh? Instead of taking your frustration out on innocent people.”

“He’s not—” 

“—yes he is. The only thing he’s guilty of is enjoying my work. What’s wrong with that?” 

Nothing, absolutely nothing … yet—

“I didn’t think you were that desperate for approval.” 

“I am!” He snapped. “I’ve never been so desperate in my whole life, Geralt. I’ve been like this ever since you left me on that bloody mountain! Your approval was all that mattered to me—” He shook his head slowly. “but you tore my fucking heart apart until there was nothing left. You did this.”

This wasn’t going well at all. In fact, the more he spoke, the worse it got. 

“Jaskier—” He tried. “I’m sorry.”

He hadn’t meant it.

“I never told you this, but after you left, I swore to myself I would never see you again, Geralt. I really did. For as long as I lived, just like you ask—because it’s true, you are better off without me—I mean, look at you—” He said, gesturing Geralt weakly. “You belong with her and I’m just some dejected pet tagging along, wishing for something that is never going to happen.”

_You’re wrong._ Geralt wanted to tell him. _I care about you._

_A lot._

“She wasn’t serious—earlier.”

There was nothing between him and Yennefer. 

There never would be. Not anymore.

“I’m not clueless, I know she was doing it on purpose, but—why were you? Do you like hurting me, is that it? Because let me tell you Geralt, you hurt me enough.”

A fiery abyss lit inside his stomach. 

No words would be able to comfort him. Not right now. 

So instead of speaking, he grabbed Jaskier and kissed him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo! This one is a tad shorter than usual cuz I had to split the chapter in two! I hope yall like it. 
> 
> Next one is gonna hurt tho, so brace yourselves for the angst...and smut <3 
> 
> Also, please follow me on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/ErikaBee9) for garbage Witcher edits!
> 
> Leave your comments and kudos down below!


	14. Chapter 14

As soon as their lips touched, a weight on his chest was lifted. 

The witcher would have expected their first kiss to be gentle and soft, just like he perceived Jaskier to be—but no. 

It was the very opposite of it.

Their lips collided together like two wolves fighting over a carcass. Jaskier was fire under his touch. Urgent, burning, demanding—

He took a hold of Geralt’s back and slammed their body together.

Their tongues clashed, the kiss deepened. 

He swooped the bard up by the waist with one arm and carried him to the nearest surface. Jaskier’s legs wrapped around him like an octopus. A clingy one, that wouldn’t let go, not even when he was put down on the table.

They knocked down the plates, the glasses— 

Geralt’s bag—

“Shit—” Jaskier chuckled. 

“Leave it.” Geralt said. 

Jaskier was an experienced kisser. He knew exactly how to move with Geralt, taking in his passion in like a sponge, and giving just as much in return. Small moans escaped his lips. Taunts meant to please, to tease—

It’s not like he had expected Jaskier to be clueless in that area. Not at all. But the fact that someone else tasted those lips, heard those moans, held him in such way—filled him with anger.

“The way they look at you—” Geralt growled, grabbing him by the jaw. “It’s driving me mad.”

Jaskier’s reaction was immediate. His eyes turned crimson, his teeth—sharp. He nipped at his lip, drawing blood as they kissed. 

“Tell me more.” He panted. 

Geralt buried his face in his nape, leaving hungry kisses along his skin. “I could’ve killed them, Jaskier—”

“Then why didn’t you just say so instead of being a complete arse?”

Because once the words came out, he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to stop himself. 

Geralt pulled him flush against his chest. Instead of an answer, he reached for another kiss. Deep and urgent, as if the very thought of being apart for more than a second was physically painful. 

“Do you like me, Geralt?” He said, pulling away slowly. 

His scent was familiar, his warmth—so ever comfortable. Like the mornings of Geralt’s youth, when he had nothing to fret about, no monster to slay. When no one was afraid of him. 

When he wasn’t a monster. 

If he closed his eyes right now, he’d be able to fall asleep without any worry. 

Without any nightmares. 

“I—” Geralt paused in his embrace, glancing down at his crotch. “What do you think?”

“That’s not what I’m asking.” Jaskier’s eyes glowed brightly in the night as he looked into Geralt’s gaze as if searching for something. “Do you want to be with me?” 

“I’m with you right now, Jaskier.” He blinked. 

The air between them tensed up in an instant. Jaskier pushed him away with his foot. 

“I won’t be used like some handkerchief and then thrown away when deemed too dirty, Geralt. I deserve more than that.” 

He grabbed his ankle. “What do you deserve, then?” 

Jaskier hesitated, heavy words against his tongue. “My reward. I beat you, remember?”

His smile was playful, but Geralt could feel the disappointment behind his facade. 

No matter how much he tried to, he could never say the right words. At least, not the ones Jaskier wanted to hear most. 

“Go sit on that chair.” The bard ordered.

He glanced at the said chair with disgust. Stepping away from Jaskier was the last thing he wanted to do right now. 

“If this is your idea of punishment—” 

“Punishment?” He scoffed. Licking his lips tantalizingly. “No, Geralt. If I’m punishing you, you’ll know.” 

Geralt did what he was told, but Jaskier didn’t follow. Instead, he crossed his arms and said, 

“Remove your shirt.” 

His patience was wearing thin, but he obeyed nonetheless. He undid the first buttons before the bard spoke again.

“Slower.”

“Jaskier—”

“Can’t a man enjoy the view?” 

If he wanted a view, Geralt would give him one. 

He made sure to undress so slow that Jaskier couldn’t bear to stay still any longer. 

He crossed the distance and sat on his laps.

“I’ve been meaning to do that.” His hands ran wild on his exposed chest. Stroking, gripping, scrapping, “God, you’re hot.”  
  
“Not going to comment on the scars?”

“What for? I already know the stories behind them. Especially those ones.” He brushed his fingers against his neck, then his wrist—where the faint mark of his fangs still lingered. “If you ask me, they’re the prettiest.” 

He kissed Jaskier until the smaller man was out of breath and his lips became swollen with lust. 

Geralt reached for his collar, but Jaskier stopped him. 

“No—no, you’re not having your way with me. Not tonight.” Jaskier panted, pushing him further into the chair. “Don’t move. I mean it.”

He left his hands right where they were. Jaskier was right, he didn’t deserve to touch him, not after what he did. Yet, he couldn’t stop his arms from shifting uncomfortably on the chair.

He scattered a trail of kisses and teasing bites along Geralt’s neck, before pausing in front of his jugular. 

_This was happening._

“Wait.” Geralt hesitated.

Suddenly, his courage was no more. He couldn’t help but think about Yen’s words.

What if all of this was because of the curse—

“I’ll be gentle if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He scoffed. 

_As if._

Geralt was a fierce warrior, an experience witcher, the white wolf, the butcher of Blaviken— 

pointy teeth didn’t frighten him—

_Except when they did._

He flinched as Jaskier got closer and his breath tickled at his throat.

“I won’t hurt you, Geralt.” He said, voice soft. 

And Geralt believed him. 

That was all the warning he got before Jaskier’s fangs were pushed into his neck. 

His senses were overwhelmed in seconds. 

The ache was finally quenched. The hole in his chest—filled. 

Jaskier took his first swallow and Geralt’s head fell back against the chair in satisfaction. And pleasure. 

A lot of it. 

Jaskier stayed true to his words. He made sure that the bites were pain-free and the witcher comfortable, as he angled his neck for better access. Each sip sent hot shivers across Geralt’s skin as if his whole nervous system was being filled with lava. Burning his inside in a so ever pleasant way. 

It was impossible to ignore. Fierce and gripping-like waves crashing into him all at once. 

“Fuck—” He said, followed by a long and deep moan.

The wood cracked beneath his tensed grip. 

Jaskier was greedy. He took and took until blood dripped down his chest and the scent of iron was thick in the air. Geralt’s sensitive nose was quickly overpowered. His head turned dizzy, and his thoughts became a jumble of clashing colors.

“Can’t you be less messy?” 

Jaskier nodded, lapping at his neck sloppily. The way his tongue burned against his skin, his whimpers echoed in his ear—

It was driving the witcher mad with want. If he could just touch him—

He reached for Jaskier’s belt.

His arm was slapped away. 

“Keep your hands where they are.” Jaskier chuckled, digging his teeth even deeper into Geralt. 

“I want to touch you—” 

“Then you should’ve thought about that before flirting with Yennefer.” 

His bites then turned vindictive and vicious. Geralt couldn’t tell if he was numb from the pain or the pleasure. 

And he didn’t care. 

Not being able to touch him while he looked so delicious, so needy—was torture. That’s what Jaskier was doing to him. 

Pure torture. 

The more blood Jaskier took, the less control he seemed to have over his own body. His hips moved on their own, his bites became soft. It wasn’t long before hunger turned to lust and he began rubbing unashamedly against the witcher.

He could feel how close Jaskier was, how desperate for release he became. 

His hardness dug into Geralt’s stomach, begging for attention.

“You done?” He asked.

If his hands stayed a moment longer on that chair, he was going to shatter it. Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed at Jaskier’s cock through his trousers.

The bard melted into the touch. His hips buckled urgently against Geralt.

“Good?” 

“Yes, yes—please don’t stop,” Jaskier said, moaning wetly into his neck. 

Geralt wasn’t planning to. His strokes were slow and thorough—straight to the point. There was no need to tease him, not when he was so needy, so pliant— 

“Geralt—” He yelped, shuddering into the touch, cock dripping through the fine fabric—

His breath became unsteady, filled with raspy and frantic moans.

Pure music to Geralt’s ears. 

Jaskier came hard in his pants. His body trembled like a leaf and he muttered the most colorful swears in Geralt’s arms. 

They stayed like this for a moment, catching back their breath in the silent room. 

Then Geralt pulled Jaskier’s head back. 

Saliva and blood dripped down from his chin. His eyes were out of focus, his lips red and plump— 

He wiped Jaskier’s mouth with the back of his arm. 

“Think you can put away those fangs of yours?” He asked, his thumb rubbing at his wet lips. 

The bard’s eyes widened.

He sunk to his knees instantly and unbuckled Geralt’s pants with haste. Once he got Geralt’s length out, he wrapped his hand around it, or tried to—his fingers couldn’t quite reach all the way.

He paused, his grip turning shy. 

“How are you so—” His words died off as he gazed at his cock in awe. “God, you’re impossible.”

“I’ll be gentle.” Geralt said, imitating Jaskier in a mocking tone. “If that’s what you’re worried about.” 

“Shut up.” He huffed, shaking his head in disbelief. 

Geralt was still woozy from the blood loss, so when his cock was shoved into Jaskier’s warm mouth—he almost passed out. 

It was too much—too hot, too intense—

Then he noticed the sloppy licks, the drooling and the fact that Jaskier couldn’t handle more than the tip. 

The witcher lifted a brow. “Too much?” 

Jaskier pulled away, cheeks red, glaring, “It’s my first time, you—absolute jerk.” 

That was something Geralt didn’t expect. 

_At all._

Not that he thought the bard was an expert in cocksucking— 

No. He just didn’t think he’d ever be Jaskier’s first of anything. 

“You don’t have to force yourself—”

“Geralt, choking myself to death on your cock would be my honor.”

And that would most likely happen if Geralt didn’t intervene. 

“I’m simply in need of some insight on how to—proceed.” He added, timidly. 

Geralt’s heart suddenly felt light. 

“Try recalling the last time you’ve been inside someone’s mouth. What they did—how it felt—” He paused, gesturing vaguely. “Just do it like that.” 

A bitter smiled appeared on the bard’s lips. He hesitated for a moment, before saying quietly, “I’d rather not recall that particular memory—just tell me how you like it.”

“Jaskier—” _What happened?_ Geralt almost asked. 

But Jaskier’s mouth was back on him, cutting off his question with timely precision—as if trying to avoid the subject completely. 

Geralt could take a hint. They would have plenty of opportunities to talk about it once all this—was out of the way. 

He grabbed Jaskier’s jaw and guided his cock deeper into his mouth. 

“Keep your throat relaxed. Remember to breathe—” He instructed, as he pulled him forward. “Tell me if it gets too intense.” 

The bard adjusted his mouth around the thickness and took as much of Geralt as he could. His eyes teared, his cheeks hollowed. 

He was breathtaking. 

“Think you can handle more?” He asked, voice raw.

Jaskier engulfed him further into his wet warmth, lips stretching beautifully around his cock. 

The sight alone sent shivers of pleasure down his spine.

This was going to be embarrassingly quick. 

As he sped up his pace, the tip of his fangs grazed at Geralt’s delicate skin.

The witcher whitened. 

“Jaskier—” He warned. 

But instead of stopping, the bard took him even deeper into his mouth, until Geralt could feel the back of his throat convulsing around him.

Geralt’s hips jolted upward. A soft moan escaped his lips.

_Oh, God—_

_this was good._

_More than good._

“Fuck.” He hissed. 

His own body was betraying him, refusing to act as Jaskier’s fangs slid dangerously along his shaft. He gripped at the bard’s hair. Now for support rather than to guide.

Crimson eyes met his and Geralt lost it.

A series of high moans tore their way out of his treacherous mouth. He tried pulling Jaskier away, but the man refused to budge. Instead, he held Geralt by the hips and forced him to ride his climax inside his mouth.

And good lord that he did. 

He came so intensely—his vision blurred and his eyes clenched shut. 

His whole body shook in bliss.

He held on to Jaskier for a moment, as if he was now the paddle of his life. If he let go, he’d no doubt fall directly into the floor.

“Put your fangs anywhere near my cock again and I’ll kill you.” He whispered after a while.

Jaskier wiped his mouth, a soft grin on his face. 

“Oh shut up. I know pleasure when I see it, Geralt. And you, dear Witcher, never came as hard in your life.”

It was true. 

So true, Geralt didn’t even try to deny it. 

Jaskier’s eyes were overwhelmingly warm and affectionate. He cupped Geralt’s face with his hand and smiled, 

“Thank you for the meal.” 

Geralt rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t get used to it.” 

The bard gave him a knowing look before rising up and straightening his clothes. 

“What a mess…” He glanced at the bag on the floor. “Better clean that up before your vials spill.” 

Geralt hummed, closing his eyes slowly. Cleaning was the last thing on his mind right now. He needed sleep. A lot of it. Tomorrow’s raid required his utmost sharpness.

After all, the success of this whole operation did depend on him.

“Geralt—what’s that?” Jaskier’s voice pulled him out of his slumber, like a morning bird. 

A particularly urgent one. 

Geralt’s eyes opened just in time to witness Jaskier bending down and grabbing something out of his bag. He figured the bard had simply taken an interest in one of the monsters’ parts he kept in there—

when he realized what it was exactly that Jaskier was holding.

The Countess’ letter.

The letter Geralt forgot to burn. 

_**Fuck** _

_**fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—** _

He got up so fast, his head spun. 

“Nothing.” He said, reaching for the letter in haste.

But like always, Jaskier was faster. He took a step back and evaded Geralt’s grip swiftly. 

“I recognize the handwriting and—” He said, sniffing the paper. “the scent. Rose de Minuit… Countess de Stael wears it.” 

Geralt wasn’t ready to deal with this. At all. Not after all the blood, he had just lost. His head was still woozy, and his body so heavy, he wouldn’t be surprised if he passed out right here and then. 

Jaskier tore the envelope open with shaky fingers. The moment his eyes browsed through its content, his expression fell. 

His brows quivered, his lips thinned.

Time froze. Everything became quiet.

“I can explain.” The witcher said hesitantly. 

But even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. Not anymore. Because— 

Tears fell down Jaskier’s cheeks and—

Geralt’s heart clenched. 

“Your friend, huh?” He chuckled bitterly. “You fucking liar.” 

When Jaskier’s gaze met with his again, there was no more warmth, no more kindness. Only betrayal and it shook Geralt to his very core. 

“It’s not what you think—” 

Jaskier’s shoulders crumbled. His head dropped. 

“How much did she offer you, hmm? How much was our friendship worth, Geralt?”

Geralt had refused everything she had offered. 

The coins,

The treasures, 

The fame,

He didn’t care about those things, he never did. 

“She didn’t have to pay me anything, Jaskier. I was worried about you.” 

“What an idiot I’ve been—oh.” He took a step back, voice weak and hand clenching around the letter. “And here I thought—” He closed his eyes in pain. “I thought you came to find me because you cared—”

“I did.” He sighed. “I do. I only agreed to this because she said she’d protect you from Vess.”

Jaskier shook his head bitterly. “Did she explained how?” 

She never had. 

Geralt frowned.

“Of course not, she’s clever that way. Why bother when she just had to send—you.”

“What do you mean?” 

“She used you—you bloody fool.” 

“I don’t understand—” 

“Marriage, Geralt!” Jaskier shoved him back, palms pressing aggressively into his chest. “What else did you think it was? How else was she supposed to protect me? That’s what this whole charade has ever been about. If I marry into her family—”

_“—no one will dare to threaten his life, ever again.”_ She had said.

“-Vess will have no choice but to give up on his grudge.”

Geralt froze. 

God, he had been such an idiot. 

“Why sending me—”

“Because she knew—” His voice broke. “she knew it would wreck me and I’d come back running—like I always do.”

_Fuck._

“Jaskier.” Geralt said. “I’m sorry.” 

Jaskier sent the table flying. “I don’t care!” He shouted, his voice as cold as ice. “I don’t care anymore. Stay the fuck away from me.” 

If he could just show him how sincere he was. If Jaskier just listened to his heartbeat, he’d know how much Geralt cared— 

how much empty and dull his life would be without him by his side.

“Please—just hear me out.” 

_Just this once._

“Years and years, Geralt! I’ve heard enough, don’t you think?” He paused, taking a deep and shaky breath. “It’s not worth it—you’re not worth all this pain.” 

Jaskier turned to leave.

“Jaskier I—” 

_want to be with you._

But the words never came out. His vision blackened, his legs gave out. 

_Please don’t go._

His eyes closed.

Jaskier left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope yall liked the chapter! 
> 
> Please don't hate me, I did say it would hurt? :) 
> 
> Like always, drop em comments and kudos down below <3


	15. Chapter 15

_“Bring him to me, safe.”_

_“So that’s it—that’s your great plan?” Geralt scoffed. “Hide Jaskier in this castle for the rest of his life? The Baron will still find him.”_

_“I promise you that once he’s here, no one will dare to threaten his life, ever again.” The Countess said._

_“Then, get one of your mercenaries to do it. If they were able to bring me here, Jaskier won’t be a problem.”_

_“My men, he doesn’t trust, but you? You might not consider him your friend, Witcher, but to him, you’re the closest thing he has to a family. He’d follow you to the gates of hell if you so much as ask.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “If you walk away, and he dies, would you be able to live with that?”_

“Geralt?” 

His head was pounding. 

His body was hurting. 

It was as if a bull had stomped on his whole being. 

The first thing he saw as he opened his eyes was Yen sitting on the bed next to him, a smirk on her face. 

“How do you feel?” She asked. The amusement in her tone was evident. 

“Where’s Jaskier.” 

The sorceress shrugged. “Not here, obviously.” 

He still looked around the room, hoping to catch the sight of Jaskier, staring back at him. But there was no sign of those blue eyes anywhere—he wasn’t here. 

He left. 

“He found out, didn’t he?” 

“What do you think?” Geralt got up, wincing. 

Dear lord, he felt like shit. 

“That’s what you get for playing God.” 

He didn’t want to hear it. He couldn’t—not right now. Not when everything inside him hurt. Not when he was barely holding himself together. 

Not when he was seconds away from breaking down. 

He had been so stupid. He should’ve known better than to trust a noble. All of them were the same. Snakes, hiding behind prestige and money. All they cared about was when and how to use people. Her, Vess— 

He needed to settle this once and for all. 

“Yen, if you’re here for an ‘I told you so’—”

“I’m here because you almost died, Geralt.” She snapped. “I’ve been by your side for three fucking hours. You almost bled out on this very ground.”

That’s when he noticed the bandage on his neck, the bloody carpet on the floor. His skin burned, as if on fire where Jaskier had left his mark. As if his fangs were still inside him—

He grabbed a clean shirt and turned to the door. If he left now, he could probably catch up with him. 

“If Jaskier hadn’t come back when he did—” 

He came back. 

He came back for Geralt— 

“—you’d be dead by now.” She frowned. “Wipe that stupid smirk off your face. It’s not funny, not this time.” 

Jaskier came back—

“Where is he now?” 

“Didn’t you listen to a word I said? You almost kissed death. Isn’t time you realize people aren’t toys for you to manipulate?” 

“Do you think I meant for this to happen?” 

“You never do, yet still you end up doing the most horrible things, and for what? Jaskier doesn’t want to see you, I don’t want to see you—everything you touch, you destroy—you selfish asshole.”

This was harsh, even for her. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. Especially not those he cared about most. 

But, he still did. Always. All the time.

“I wanted him to live—I wanted you to live, what’s so fucking wrong with that?” His voice quivered. “What horrible sin am I guilty of?” 

She crossed her arms in disbelief. “I didn’t need saving, not from you. Not from anyone. It’s not for you to decide when we say goodbye to this world.” 

But if he hadn’t— 

“You’d be dead.”

Even if by some miracle, he could go back in time, he wouldn’t change his wish. He would probably change everything else, but not this. Never this. No matter how much she hated him for it. 

“Maybe, maybe not, but we’ll never know because you took it upon yourself to be my savior.” She spat. “My big white knight in shiny armor. And look at where it got you. You’re still here, making the same mistake, like a child who never learns.” 

What if he never learned? At least he tried. Every single time, even when everything in him told him not to try, not to care—he still did. That’s why it hurt so much. Because no matter what he did, no matter how much it made sense, it was always the wrong choice.

As if life had decided to make his existence a miserable joke. Where saving people meant losing them.

“I’m sorry.” He gazed down at the floor. 

He was, truly. 

“I get why you did it.” She said after a moment. “I just wished you hadn’t.” 

She was right. Everything he touched, he ended up destroying. 

“The countess wants to marry him.” He said, slowly. “That’s why she summoned me. She figured I’d be her best shot to bring him back.” 

“Nobles are so boringly predictable.” She shook her head in amusement. “Did you ever consider that maybe—Jaskier didn’t want to go back to her?”

He hadn’t. 

“That perhaps, he fancied someone else—someone dumber?” 

And look at what had happened. Jaskier offered his heart and Geralt tear it down. 

“I—” His chest clenched. “I don’t want Jaskier to marry her.” 

He had messed up again. Like he always did, and no matter how much he tried to do better—to be better, he had no idea how to. And he had pushed Jaskier away—again. 

“I’m not the one you should be telling this to.” 

He felt a foreign sting in the corner of his eyelids, like prickling needles. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again—

A tear rolled down his cheek.

“Geralt, are you—shit.” 

He froze. 

Panic settled in his stomach as if he had just swallowed ice. As soon as the first tear fell down his chin, others followed quickly. It was as if a door had been opened. 

They just wouldn’t stop falling. 

No matter how many times he wiped them off. 

He couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t close the door. 

It had been decades since he cried. The shame, the humiliation—was unbearable. 

Yennefer grabbed his arm as if he was a newborn fawn, incapable of standing on his own. In a way, he was, because as soon as she sat him on the chair, his body crumbled down. 

Yennefer kept her hand on his shoulder to ground him. A gesture he didn’t expect, not from her. Not after everything. But she showed her support through her silence.

After a while, he gasped, “I don’t know how to fix this.” 

“Why would you want to fix it? He almost killed you.” 

“He didn’t do anything wrong.” Geralt said quietly. 

Nothing he hadn’t wanted. 

“Is it the toxin in your blood talking?” 

No—this was deeper. Older. The feeling had always been there, burrowed so deep beneath that he couldn’t recognize it for what it was—

Affection. 

“It’s not.” 

“How can you be so sure?” 

“Because I am!” He snapped. “I’ve been bitten by vampires before—”

and never had his heart been in such a state. 

“Not ones that were cursed. Not like this.” 

He frowned. “What do you mean—not like this? You said blood curses weren’t a big deal—”

“I said they were easy to lift. But Jaskier—he’s different. Something’s wrong. What he did yesterday to the commandant shouldn’t have been possible.”

Geralt wiped his face slowly. 

Of course. Because why would things ever be simple?

It was as if he stood above a never-ending abyss that swallowed all the goodness in his life. Or maybe, Geralt was the abyss. But deep down, he already knew something was off.

Power didn’t appear out of thin air. Abilities like these— 

“Tell me.”

-were beyond an incomplete curse. 

x

The soldiers gathered around the mine’s entry, like a bunch of restless puppies. None of them had any real experience with specters, yet they still showed off their swords and bragged about their imaginary exploits, as if the wraiths had already been slain. 

Sadly, most of them, if not all, wouldn’t even see the light of day again. That’s how dangerous those creatures were.

“You might want to prepare yourself—” Yennefer said. 

_“Where is he?” Geralt asked in utter defeat._

_He was right, once again. Witchers couldn’t have happy endings._

_Ever._

_“He’s still at camp.”_

As soon as they arrived, Geralt saw the commandant’s arm around Jaskier’s waist. Like a poisonous snake ensnaring its prey. 

The clothes Jaskier was wearing weren’t his. They were too tight, too dark— 

They were Hector’s.

“Bet you regret stopping me, last night, huh?” She scoffed. “I must admit—nice work on his face.” 

Yet despite the black eye, the commandant still had this—dumb look on his face. As if he rather laid down his life than be anywhere else than by Jaskier’s side. 

“Ah, there you are.” Hector greeted cheerfully.

“You look pale, commandant.” Yennefer said, smugly. 

He brushed his hand against his battered skin. “Yes, I suppose I do. I fell and knocked myself out on a rock—I was lucky to have Julian around. He’s the one who brought me back to my tent and cared for me all night. I wouldn’t be in this world today if it wasn’t for him.” 

_Oh, now it was Julian, was it?_

Shame that Hector didn’t know the bard actually hated being called by his first name. 

_It reminded him of his mother._

“Is that right?” Geralt asked dryly. 

Jaskier’s gaze was nothing less than a winter storm. 

Hector hummed. “But It’s only a flesh wound. Nothing that will stop me front wiping those damned things off the face of the continent.” The commandant carried on with a long speech. Explaining how this was his duty, that he had been put into this world for this very purpose— 

but Geralt wasn’t paying attention to him at all. He had eyes only for Jaskier. The bard, however, made sure to glance at everyone and everything—except at him. From the soldiers, Hector, Yennefer, to the very rocks that laid on the ground.

The witcher grabbed him by the arm. “Can we talk?” 

This was it. 

His last chance to tell the bard how he really felt. Not that it mattered anymore—but Geralt needed to say it while he still could. While there was still a chance Jaskier might forgive him. 

Even if the said forgiveness would be short-lived, and bitter. 

“I have nothing more to say to you.” He whispered. 

“Why did you come back this morning?” 

He flinched, glancing at Geralt’s wound nervously. “Does it matter?” He bit his lips as if to prevent unwanted words from tumbling out. 

“It matters to me, Jaskier I—”

“No, no, no, don’t you dare. We’re not doing this now.”

But if they didn’t, Geralt wouldn’t get another chance to.

“Jaskier—” He said, pulling him closer despite the watching eyes.

_“The curse’s been completed.” Yennefer said._

_“How would you know, you haven’t examined him properly—”_

“I said, not now, Geralt.” He hissed. 

But it had to be now—

“I can’t stand being close to you.” He blurted out. 

Damn. This wasn’t going well. At all. 

Jaskier paused. “What?” 

The commandant was staring, the soldiers too. 

Yennefer threw him a thumb up.

Fuck.

_“Because, Geralt, I know curses!” Yennefer hissed. “Everything you told me, everything that happened since then—there’s only so much an incomplete curse can do!”_

“Whenever I’m close to you—” He sighed. Fuck this was hard. Harder than anything Geralt had ever done before. “it’s like I don’t have any control on what to think or how to act. The way you make me feel—” 

“Pain is what you’re going to feel if you don’t shut up this instant, Geralt.” He said, glancing around awkwardly. 

“Jaskier—” He paused, searching his words. “You’re … important to me.”

_“How do we lift it?”_

“Important? don’t make me laugh. You betrayed me, you betrayed my trust—our friendship—” He whispered harshly. “You couldn’t care less about me. Whatever this is—” He gestured between them. “It’s over. Once we lift the curse, I am done.” 

_“We don’t.” Yennefer said._

Geralt could feel the faint burn in his eyes, more tears threatening to fall. But he wouldn’t let himself sink that low. Not this time, and certainly not in front of Jaskier. He had done enough already. 

“Right.” He said. “I—”

Say it, 

**_Come on._ **

But his voice stuck inside his throat.

If not this, at least he needed to tell him about the curse—

He couldn’t. 

Again. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier called, the hint of worry in his voice. “Are you alright—” 

He couldn’t even be honest, just this once. When it mattered the most. 

Even if Jaskier somehow, forgave him— 

Geralt didn’t deserve to be by his side. 

“Let’s—just get this over with.” 

He turned around and left.

_“There has to be a way—whatever it is, tell me.”_

_“There is, but—”_

“We’re doing it.” Geralt said dryly as he joined Yennefer’s side. 

She shook her head slowly. “You’re pathetic.”

He was. 

x

The mines were as gloomy as one would expect from a place filled with wraiths. The tunnels smelled of death, earth, and rust, while the walls seemed as solid as paper.

“Why is it so dark in here?” Jaskier asked, following closely behind the commander.

The torches were barely providing enough light to see more than a few feet up ahead. If they got attacked now, they wouldn’t stand a chance.

Yennefer scoffed, “Scared already?”

“Scared? No, just apprehending our imminent deaths.”

“Do not worry, talented musician. My soldiers and I will make sure not a single one of your hair is harmed. You shall live through this day and sing the glory of our success— ”

Geralt felt like vomiting.

“I wouldn’t quite count on that, Commandant. With his luck, he’ll stumble over his own feet and break his neck.”

“Oh, don’t worry Yennefer, you’ll find that I am hard to kill.” Jaskier said.

“Parasites usually are.” She chuckled, glancing at the sword on his belt. “Do you even know how to use that thing?”

“I know how to handle a sword if that’s what you’re asking.” Jaskier said haughtily, taking out the said sword and holding it in the air to examine it.

Another one of Hector’s gift.

“I’m sure you do. I bet you and the commandant had plenty of practice.”

Jaskier paused, arm mid-air. “Jealous?” 

Geralt gave him a hard look. “Stop wiggling that damn sword around.” He turned to the soldiers. “That goes for all of you too. Don’t draw your swords yet. The tunnel’s too narrow, and the walls might collapse.” 

Just like it had on the miners. 

They all nodded in silence. 

“I may have shown him a few tricks of mine.” The commandant said after a moment, glancing at Geralt smugly. “He was in dire need of—guidance. Especially in the art of the sword.” 

When all this was over, Geralt was going to do more than just punch him. He was going to wrap his hands around Hector’s neck and squeezed until the man breathe no more.

“You are an outstanding teacher, Hector,” Jaskier said. 

“Geralt’s an outstanding teacher too.” Yennefer smiled. 

“Oh, I bet you know all about that—”

“I do, actually. He taught me a lot about the art of the sword … his sword, specifically. He left quite the impression.” 

Geralt glared at Yennefer, shaking his head slowly. Poking Jaskier wasn’t a good idea, especially when he was pissed. 

“Shame you weren’t as memorable. Geralt had a lot of students since then. Whores, broken souls, a few sorceress—” He paused, “one old lady— ”

Oh dear lord, here we go. 

“Which one do you fall under, Jaskier?”

“Not interested.” 

“Then, you won’t mind if Geralt and I resume our training, right?” 

Geralt whitened. 

Jaskier scoffed, eyeing the dagger fastened on her belt. “What’s the use of teaching you about swords when all you can handle are daggers? Better you stick to smaller weapons, Yennefer.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes as deadly as two little volcanoes, ready to erupt.

But Jaskier didn’t stop there.

“If you want guidance, I’m sure you’ll find soldiers at camp willing enough … that is, if they haven’t already taken turns at giving you private lessons.”

For fuck’s sake—

“Enough!” Geralt snapped. “Both of you.”

This was neither the time—nor the place. Not when they could get ambushed at any moment. But trying to stop them was like trying to stop a house from collapsing with his bare hands. 

“Was the Baron willing enough when you went to him?” 

Jaskier’s fists clenched. 

“Why don’t you tell us which name you called out when Vess had your cock deep inside his throat?”

And this was the whole house collapsing. 

The soldiers all stopped. The commandant too. Geralt couldn’t risk Jaskier lashing out right now. The whole ‘fangs and red eyes’ situation would definitely be a problem. 

He should’ve kept the bard at camp. 

“Jaskier—” He called softly. “Calm down.” 

“Should I say it?” She taunted. 

“Heed my warning, Yennefer. Another word from you, and it will be your last.” 

Right now, Geralt believed him. 

“Yen—” 

“Geralt.” She smiled. “That’s what you said, is it not?”

The air tensed. 

The witcher looked at Yen in confusion. “why would he call my name—”

Then, a strident cry echoed behind them. 

“What the hell was that?” a soldier asked.

“A wraith,” Yennefer and him said simultaneously.

The screams grew closer, multiplying until it formed a song of pure rage. 

“They’re coming.” Geralt said.

“Raise your swords.” The commandant shouted. 

“No—” Geralt hissed. “let’s get a move on. There’s a wider area up ahead. If we can reach it, we’ll be able to fight them there.” 

Before any of them could take even a single step, a dim light appeared next to the soldiers. A bony hand reached out of the glowing aura and grabbed one of them by the throat. The creature tore him apart in an instant.

“Fuck.” 

“Oh—no, noo—no one told me we’d be fighting floating corpses—” Jaskier chuckled dryly. 

The soldiers drew their swords.

“The tunnel’s not wide enough.” Yennefer snapped. 

“We’ll die here if we do nothing!” One shouted. 

They swung their swords at the glowing spots, without a single care as to where—or what they were hitting. The wraiths were intelligent. They made sure to disappear right before their blades hit, guiding the soldiers closer and closer to the walls’ edges.

The very, very fragile walls

“They’re trying to make the tunnel collapse.” Geralt whispered in realization. “Stop—”

But it was too late, one of the soldiers shoved his sword into the wall and the tunnel began vibrating around them. 

Yennefer barely had time to raise her hands up before the whole ceiling came crashing down. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sORRY IT TOOK SO LONG- 
> 
> but here it is. Chapter 15!
> 
> Leave em comments and kudos down below <3


	16. Chapter 16

Dust surrounded him like a thick curtain. It obscured his view and filled his lungs, as he navigated in blindness, calling Jaskier’s name in panic.

It was quiet. The screams had died down, and he couldn’t feel the presence of the wraiths anymore. 

When the dust settled, and his surroundings became clear again, the scenery had changed. Geralt was no longer in that cramped tunnel, but in a wider one, where many others joined in a fork of paths. 

They were deeper into the mines.

Jaskier was kneeling on the ground, covered in dirt from head to toes. He coughed dramatically while dusting off his clothes. 

Geralt sighed in relief. 

He was safe. 

Then he smelled blood. 

Yennefer stood next to Hector, a hand on her shoulder, wincing in pain. 

“You’re wounded.” 

“Yeah, no shit. I was too busy saving our asses to dodge the fucking ceiling.” She glanced around. “I couldn’t get the soldiers in time. Those fools.”

He had been so preoccupied with Jaskier’s safety that he hadn’t noticed that only the four of them had made it. 

This would be a problem. 

His eyes fell on the commandant, who for some reason, was very much alive. He raised a questioning brow.

“He was close.” She shrugged. 

The commandant was lucky, indeed. 

Yennefer lighted a fire while he made sure to seal the area with a magic barrier. It wouldn’t hold forever, but it would buy them enough time to come up with a plan. 

He was barely done with his task when he heard arguing behind him. 

“You horrid whore—”

“Wimpy bitch—”

“Fuck you.” 

“-no wonder Geralt left you on that mountain.”

“you’re dead—” 

He turned around just in time to see Jaskier storming at Yen. 

He was as fast as the wind, but Yennefer was quick to react. She stopped Jaskier mid-air and send him flying back with a gust of magic. 

The bard was up in an instant, but this time, Geralt managed to grab him by the collar before he attacked again. 

“Enough!” He growled. 

“It’s only going to be enough when I tear off her tongue. She needs to learn her lesson.” 

“And which lesson would that be?” Yennefer taunted. 

“To mind your fucking business.” Jaskier spat in pure venom. 

“Calm down. And you.” He turned to Yen. “Stop making up stories just to get under his skin—you’ll get us killed.”

Jaskier paused, dumbfounded. 

“Did the tunnel collapsed on your head? …” She said dryly. “Or are you simply an imbecile?”

“The latter,” Jaskier added. “He’s unbelievably thick.” 

“Oh, on that, we can agree. Geralt is very, very thick.” 

Jaskier’s anger was instantly revived. 

But this time, Geralt didn’t bother stopping him. They could kill each other, for all he cared. He was done standing here while they unleashed their anger on him. He shifted his attention to Hector, who until now hadn’t said a single word. The poor man was white as a sheet, his finger pointing at Jaskier as if he had seen a ghost— 

That’s right, the curse. 

_Fuck._

The commandant took a frightened step back. 

“You monster—you creature of hell—devil’s spawn.”

Jaskier crossed his arms. “Well, that’s fucking rude.” 

“He’s not. He’s just—cursed.” Geralt said. 

The notion didn’t seem to appease Hector at all. The man stumbled away as Jaskier approached. 

“Stay away from me! You foul beast.” 

“And here I thought we were finally becoming friends.” He scoffed. “No matter, why don’t you be a dear and tell us what you told me this morning? We shall see who’s the beast then.” 

He flinched. “I don’t know what you mean—” 

Jaskier took a threatening step. “Come on, don’t play dumb now.” He said, his voice cruel and teasing. 

His eyes were as bright, shedding a grim light upon his features. The commandant trembled, backing away until his back met with the wall. 

“The wraiths—” He hesitated, looking at Geralt. “They’re not what you think. I mean—yes, they’re wraiths but…” 

Of course. 

“There never was any miners, was there?” 

He shook his head slowly. “No, t-there weren’t. When Vaslon first discovered those old mines, he thought them to be abandoned by the dwarves. But he was mistaken. People lived here. Outcasts who preferred the dwellings of deserted mines rather than the light of the day. Despite Vaslon’s warnings, they wouldn’t leave.” His shoulders dropped. “He slaughtered the old and the young alike, leaving not a single survivor behind.”

Geralt expected something bad—but not this. 

“Then the Wraiths appeared.” He hummed, unsheathing his sword.

“Wait—wait! I took no part in this slaughter! Believe me, Witcher, I seek no harm to the innocent.” 

“Yet here you are, partaking in Vaslon’s evil deeds.”

“What other choice do I have! Wraiths are evil creatures. It is my duty to slay them, just like it is yours to do so, Witcher. How are we different? I seek glory, you seek payment. We’re both standing here, together. We even fancy the same monster—” 

Geralt flinched. “We’re nothing alike.” 

“No? Then do it. Take that blade of yours and strike me down.” He threw his own sword on the ground, almost theatrically. “I’m unarmed. We may have our differences, Witcher, but I think myself to be a decent man. I would never harm the helpless. You kill me, you kill an innocent. Only then will you prove to me that we aren’t the same.”

  
Fucking drama queen. 

Yennefer gestured for him to proceed, but Geralt couldn’t do it. It would be just like smashing a puppy with his foot. Even he had standards. 

Jaskier was the first to speak. “He’s telling the truth. He told me everything this morning.” 

He turned to Jaskier, scowling. “Couldn’t you have told me this sooner?” Then it clicked. “That’s why you came back to the tent.” He said, no louder than a whisper. 

It was to warn him. 

Not to give him a second chance—

Not because he forgave him.

“I want the same goal as you, Witcher.”

Geralt really doubted that. His only goal right now was to go back to Kaer Morhen and never leave those walls again. 

Never get involved with humans, 

Never meddles in matters of the heart again—

But even that he couldn’t achieve. Not anymore. 

“We need to find a way out.” He said, dryly, taking out the map in his bag. 

They couldn’t go back from the way they came from, not with the tunnel that had collapsed. Their only way out now was—his fingered trailed along the path until it found the nearest exit. 

“Fuck.” 

Jaskier raised a brow. “What do you mean—fuck?” He snatched the map out of his hands. 

“Bloody hell.” 

“What is it?” Hector asked. 

“Our only option right now is to use the southern exit.”

Where the corpses were gathered. 

“Oh.” The commandant said. 

“The Wraiths won’t let us through, we’ll have to fight our way out.”

“I’m not leaving without killing every last one of those things.” Yennefer said. 

“Fine. Then stay here, It’ll give us a diversion while we make our escape.” Jaskier spat. 

Geralt sighed. “Didn’t you hear what Hector said—Vaslon did this.”

“I came here to do a job, I intend on finishing it.”

“So that’s it, that’s all you care about—money?” Jaskier chuckled dryly, “I knew you had no shame, but I didn’t expect you to be completely empty inside as well.” 

“They’re already dead. Will me, caring, bring them back to life?” She scoffed. “And you seem to have forgotten that this reward is the condition for my help.” 

“Then the cost is too high.” He hissed. “We don’t need your help, just leave those people in peace. Haven’t they suffered enough already?”

“Shall we hold hands and cry?” 

Geralt sighed. “They’re suffering still. Yen is right, we should probably take care of them while we’re here.” 

“If we do this, Vaslon will have what he wants. Their deaths would’ve been in vain—the mines will be his.”

“What do you suggest, then?” Geralt asked. 

“We put them out of their misery if we must, then—we put Vaslon out of his.” Jaskier said.

Yennefer shrugged. “As long as I get paid first.” 

Geralt glared at the bard. “Is that you speaking, or the curse?” 

A scowl appeared on his face. “Does it matter?” 

It mattered. 

So much.

“We kill Vaslon, we’re no better than him.” 

“He deserves it.”

“We can’t avenge everyone, Jaskier. It’s not our job to do so—”

“If not for those he slaughtered, then for me. I’m tired of losing, Geralt.” He looked at the witcher with pleading eyes. “I just want a win. Just this time.” 

He understood how he felt. 

The desperation, the frustration— 

Nobles were entitled pricks. And sometimes, entitled pricks needed to be put to their place.

With a sword in their throat. 

“Fine.” He said slowly. 

“Em- I don’t want to interrupt, but there’s only the four of us, how do you suggest we do such a thing, Witcher?”

“You’ve said it yourself, Hector. A Witcher, a Sorceress, and a man of legend? We’ll be unstoppable.”

  
He was discussing the last arrangements with Hector when Jaskier approached. 

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” He asked. 

The commandant was quick to excuse himself. He was still uncomfortable around Jaskier as if he expected the bard to tear him apart at any moment. Which, now that Geralt thought about it, was for the best. 

He’d rather have Hector as far away from Jaskier as possible. 

“Everything’s alright?” He asked. 

“I want you to have this.” He said, handing him a folded piece of paper. 

Geralt stared at it blankly.

“It’s my will.” The bard explained. 

Geralt couldn’t stop a soft chuckle from escaping his lips. “Jaskier, we’ll get through this.” 

“We might, but what about tomorrow, or the day after that? What if I suddenly get struck by lightning, or get hit by a straying arrow? I have come to the understanding that life is very unpredictable.” He shoved the paper into Geralt’s chest. “I prefer to be prepared. Since you’ll no doubt outlive me, please deliverer this to my mother if something were to happen to me.” 

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Jaskier—” 

“It’s only a precaution.”

“For what? You have no wife, no children to bequeath your belongings to—” 

“Don’t deny me this, Geralt. Please.”

And Geralt couldn’t find it in himself to refuse. As he took the paper from his hand, Jaskier said, “Promise me you won’t peak.” 

“I won’t.” 

He felt no need to read about Jaskier’s personal affairs. Even more so when it likely concerned some unknown lover or a bastard child.

He put it in his bag, then, after a moment of silence, said, “About Vess…” 

He knew it wasn’t his place to ask, not after everything he had put Jaskier through—but he couldn’t help himself. 

“What is there to add? Didn’t you hear your precious witch?”

“But..” He paused. “Why?” 

“Why would I call your name while another man’s mouth was wrapped around my cock? Take a wild guess, Geralt.” He snapped. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

“I supposed he wasn’t pleased?” 

“You think? He almost bit my cock off in his outraged.” 

“You did deliver quite a blow to his ego.” 

“I had too much ale and got confused—that’s all. But try explaining that to the cock ripper.” 

When Yennefer gestured for them to get ready Geralt felt his heart flinch. 

“Well, anything you wanna say before we rush to our imminent deaths?” Jaskier chuckled.

“I—” Say it. “I’m sorry. About everything.” 

Jaskier hummed lightly. “Right.” 

As he started undressing, Geralt panicked.

“Wait.” He grabbed at his sleeve. “I want you to live, Jaskier.” 

“I want me to live too, Geralt.” 

“What I mean is—please be safe…” He sighed.

God—he was already regretting his decision to let Jaskier go in alone. 

As if the bard felt his anguished, he cupped Geralt’s hand with his and squeezed. “Don’t worry. It’ll take more than a few wraiths to get rid of me.” 

But Geralt wasn’t convinced. He held Jaskier by the waist and pull him against his chest. 

Geralt wouldn’t quite call it a hug—

But it was. 

When the bard pulled away, he almost whined. But his disappointment was brief, since a moment after, Jaskier kissed him.

It was angry, bitter, and desperate and Geralt couldn’t get enough. 

He didn’t want it to stop. Not now, not ever. 

Not when this was more than likely their last kiss. 

“Really—” Yennefer asked in the distance. “What are you, teenagers?” 

The spell was broken. Their kiss came to an end.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, examining his features carefully. “What’s going on?” 

Telling him now would only complicate things. 

“Just—be careful.” 

“You’re lying. Again.” Jaskier said, very, very slowly.

Even this, Geralt couldn’t hide. He really was pathetic. 

He let go of him and glanced at Yennefer. 

“We’re ready.” 

  
This had been a terrible idea. 

  
_“You’ll have to get naked.”_

_“I— what?” The bard paused, frowning at the witcher._

_Geralt had gone over this a few times in his head and this was their best option._

_The only plan that would result in them—not dying._

_“Once we lift the barrier, we’ll lure them here—”_

_“Absolutely not, you crazy bastard—” Jaskier hissed._

_“-while you get invisible and burn their corpses.”_

_Jaskier shook his head in disbelief. “Even if—by some miracle, I’m able to go unnoticed under the nose of dozens of Wraiths—they’ll still see the bloody flintstones and vial of oil in my hands.”_

_“I can teach you a basic spell. You’ll just have to recite it once you’re there and it’ll set the corpses on fire.”_

_“Ah, yes, what a marvelous idea. I suppose wraiths don’t have ears, then?”_

_“They do.” She smiled. “So you’d better recite it fast.”_

  
As soon as Jaskier left, and Geralt lifted the barrier, the wraiths came floating in like hungry hounds smelling blood. 

The plan was simple, yet in less than a few minutes, the three of them were completely overwhelmed. They just wouldn’t go down, no matter how many times Geralt stabbed and sliced. The commandant, much to his surprise, was quite handy with a sword. He fought restlessly, but even with his skills, he was no match for their imposing numbers.

Geralt was busy fighting a particularly vicious Wraith when he saw a shadow in the corner of his eyes. One of them appeared right next to Yennefer while she had her back turned. She didn’t notice the incoming attack until it was too late to avoid it.

Geralt didn’t think.

He threw himself right between her and the wraith. Claws stabbed into his stomach like cold steel, tearing through his flesh ruthlessly. He managed to strike it down before it could attack again—but the damage was already done.

“Geralt!” She screamed in panic. “You idiot—” 

He grasped at where his armor had been pierced, in a pitiful attempt to stop the bleeding, but it was pointless. Blood poured down from his wound as he turned numb and woozy. 

He crumbled to the ground. 

He could think of only one thing—

Jaskier. 

He didn’t know how serious the wound was—but from the look on Yen’s face, it was bad. If he died right now— 

“You need to do it, Yen. Now.” He hissed.

“No—for all we know, Jaskier’s dead—I’m not risking it.”

“We’re not going to make it—” The commandant shouted. 

The Wraiths kept coming back—their corpses hadn’t been burned yet. And it had been a while since Jaskier had left—

which meant something had gone wrong.

Perhaps she was right, but even if she was, Geralt didn’t care. 

His life held no value if Jaskier wasn’t in it. 

“Shut up, Hector, or I will shut you up myself.” Yennefer said. 

The commandant did his best to fend them off, but he was exhausted. He could barely hold his sword up as his limbs grew heavy and clumsier by the minutes. 

“We’ll use him as bait, and get out of here—” She suggested.

Geralt shook his head. “I won’t leave Jaskier behind.” 

Never again. 

“He’s dead, Geralt—” 

He wouldn’t leave him. He couldn’t. 

“Take it and find him.” He whispered, undoing the straps on his armor. “Do this for me.”

“No, Geralt—”

“I’m not leaving him—Yen!” He growled. 

The sorceress’ hands froze. She shook her head slowly. “I can’t do it.”

“This morning, you told me—” He groaned in pain. “you told me that it wasn’t for me to decide when people said goodbye to this world—but you and Jaskier are all that I have. Let me protect him—”

“I would be killing you!” She hissed, the shadow of tears in her eyes. “You can ask anything of me—but not this.” 

“He did it—” He yelled. “Master Jaskier did it!” 

Hector’s triumphant shouts echoed in the tunnel after one of the wraiths he struck down dissipated into thin dust. That meant— 

The wraiths could be killed. 

_Jaskier was alive._

The commandant’s vigor was renewed. His movements became fast and powerful as if he hadn’t been fighting restlessly for over half an hour. 

“Do it before he comes back…” Geralt said. “You three will be more than enough to take care of the rest of them.”

But before she could give him an answer, Jaskier came out of the tunnel. He tore apart the Wraiths in his path as if they were paper dolls. 

“Your spell didn’t work, witch.” He said coldly, fixing Yennefer’s arms around him. “I had to improvise, it took a while—” His eyes fell on Geralt’s wound.

He grew as still as a statue. 

“Tell me you didn’t—Yen?” 

“I’m not letting you throw your life away, Geralt. Not for this.”

 _Not for him_ , she meant.

Of course she gave him a fake spell— 

What else did he expect?

They had almost all died, Jaskier could’ve died—

As Geralt pulled away, his sight started to blur. 

“You’re dying,” Jaskier said slowly. Something dark shifted in his gaze as he looked at the Sorceress. “You did this.”

Geralt had barely enough strength to stay awake. If they started fighting now— 

Jaskier’s hand was around Yen’s throat quicker than one could blink.

“Jaskier stop!” He shouted. But the bard wasn’t listening, not anymore. 

His eyes were pure anger, filled with a red so bright, it shined brighter than any flame. Like two ponds of glowing fresh blood. 

His skin grew paler, his claws—sharper around Yen’s throat—until nothing human stood before them. 

Only a bruxa. 

He growled, “I’ve tolerated you long enough.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt him—” Yen gasped. “I’m sorry.” 

It was the first time Geralt had ever heard such words from her. 

She was always so prideful, arrogant—unrepentant.

But not this time. The apology brought some sense back into Jaskier. He loosened his grip. 

“If he dies here, you’re next.” He grabbed Geralt’s sword and turned to the wraiths. “I’ll assist Hector. Get him out of here.”

Geralt tried to protest, but he had lost too much blood—again. His body couldn’t take the shock and just as Yennefer managed to get him up-

he lost consciousness. 

  
  


A dry groan left his lips.

He stopped counting the number of times he had either fainted or passed out in the last few weeks. It was getting ridiculous. 

And embarrassing. 

As he opened his eyes, it took a moment for him to realize where he was. Everything was too dark, too silent. But the softness of the bed was unmistakable. He was back at camp, in their own tent. 

Jaskier was kneeling by his bed, his head resting against his arm. 

He was alive and well. 

Geralt didn’t want to wake him, but as soon as he moved, the bard stirred.

When he realized Geralt was awake, he climbed on top of him, shoving his face into his nape and rubbing his nose against his skin like an affectionate cat. As he pulled Jaskier’s head back, Geralt saw no sign of the bard behind those glassy irises. He seemed out of it. 

As if driven only by his instincts and— 

the curse. 

His eyes were puffy and red—redder than usual. He had been crying—a lot. Geralt had no idea how long he had been out, but from Jaskier’s state, it must’ve been at least a few days—if not more. 

He was a fast healer, but the wound had been deep. Any humans would’ve been killed on the spot. Yet somehow, Yennefer had managed to patch him up. 

“I’m alright.”

As he spoke, Jaskier hugged him closer, his breath warm and shuddering next to his ear.

“Jaskier—you’re crushing me.” 

But the bard didn’t budge a muscle, he stayed on top of Geralt as if the witcher would disappear if he moved away. So Geralt waited, holding him closer, breathing in the familiar scent and enjoying the warmth of his skin. 

He didn’t want to let go either, but he had no choice. 

After a moment, he said. “There’s something I need to tell you.” 

When Jaskier didn’t reply, he hesitated. There was so much he needed to say to him and so little time— 

He wanted Jaskier to hear those words—to understand them but— 

it was now or never. 

“Truth is, you’re my family, Jaskier.” He said, stroking his back slowly. “The very idea of losing you terrifies me … but every choice I make pulls you further away, no matter what I do and—I don’t know how to stop it…”

If it could even be stopped. It seemed as inevitable as the sun rising in the sky. As if Destiny would rather he lived a miserable life than a happy one. 

He had no idea if Jaskier could understand what he was saying, or if he would even remember it came morning. But none of it mattered. 

He had to say it now. 

“We can’t be together.” 

Or rather, not in this lifetime.

Jaskier barely reacted. He looked at the witcher in a haze. 

It was his fault. Geralt had done this. 

“What you feel for me, this pull between us, it’s not real. Yen was wrong. The curse isn’t incomplete—That day, back in the forest, when you first transformed—when you drank from me—”

_“He drank your blood first, right?” Yennefer asked._

_“What are you trying to say? So what if he did, it’s not like any of us had a say in the matter.”_

_Jaskier had literally jumped on him like a starving beast._

_“Those were the terms of the curse, Geralt. The merchant initiated it, changing Jaskier just enough so it would work, but he didn’t get to finish the job. He didn’t complete the bond.”_

_The dagger in his hand—his wrist cut opened._

_“He needed Jaskier to drink his blood.”_

_But Geralt had killed him before he could do so—_

_“He made Jaskier a half Bruxa. A very weak one, but with all the necessary instincts…”_

_And male bruxea mated for life—_

  
“You bonded, but not to the merchant—to me, Jaskier.”

  
_“The curse—it draws power from you, that’s why he’s getting stronger. You’re the source of it, Geralt. Your blood is the very thing that links you together. The more he drinks it—”_

_the more powerful he gets._

_“You die—”_

_He dies._

_That’s why he couldn’t leave Geralt’s side._

_That’s why he felt this way toward him._

_“How do we lift it?”_

_“We don’t.” Yennefer said. “It’s already done. It can’t be undone.”_

_“There has to be a way—whatever it is, tell me.”_

_“There is, but—“_

_“But what? There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to fix this, Yen.”_

_“Jaskier will have to bid farewell to his humanity.”_

_This couldn’t be._

_“No.” He said slowly. “There’s another way.” He could sense her heartbeat getting faster. Her gaze fell on the floor. There was more to it. “What aren’t you telling me?”_

He let out a long and shaky breath. Oh, how he wished witchers were as cold-hearted as people claimed. 

Not to feel pain, heartbreak 

love—

Things would be so much easier. 

Jaskier stayed silent as Geralt held him even closer, kissing the side of his face softly. 

The fact that he had almost died must’ve really taken a toll on Jaskier. He had been abandoned, cursed, betrayed—and now, this. Forced against his will into a bond he had never asked for…

All that Geralt had brought him was misery. Perhaps this was for the best. At least this way, Jaskier wouldn’t suffer anymore.

Geralt held their forehead together and whispered. 

“If time could reverse,” He said, stroking Jaskier’s face fondly. “I’d drag you away to the coast and spend the rest of my days gazing at you as you walk along the shore, playing your lute and humming your songs.”

But it was too late now. 

_“Either you bring me a fresh Bruxa’s heart and I turn him into a full-fledged Bruxa—overpowering the curse altogether—breaking the bond—”_

_“Or?”_

_“Or I take your beating heart and he regains his humanity. If he’s human again—”_

_The curse would be nullified._

  
“I promise you, I’ll fix this.” 

No matter the cost. 

“And once you’re yourself again, you’ll be able to lead a normal life. Marry the countess, perhaps father a few children—raise them, watch them grow up. Grow old.” 

All the things Geralt could never have. 

“A good life.” 

_A life without him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update, but hera ya go :) Hope you like it!
> 
> Leave them comments/Kudos down below! <3


	17. Chapter 17

  
The next days passed in a blur. 

There were parts he remembered. Jaskier’s voice, humming soft words, a hand in his hair, faint kisses on his cheeks and forehead. Warmth.

It reminded him of when he was younger. When he used to spend weeks in bed, on the verge of death. Vesemir would always stay by his side in case Geralt wouldn’t survive the night. 

It had been a while since he felt such affection. Decades, even. 

“How does it feel to come back from the dead?” Yennefer’s dry voice pulled him away from his thoughts. “You’re lucky I managed to patch you up, that wound was nasty.” 

She stood in the middle of the room with her arms crossed. The witcher gave her a glare so dark, even the bravest of men would run in fright. She didn’t even flinch, as she sat by his side. 

“You try and harm him again...”

He let the rest of his threat hang in the air. 

He almost lost Jaskier because of her. Even though he begged her to save him.

She still sent him to his death. 

He wouldn’t show her any mercy, no matter how much he cared for her. 

“I won’t. Go ahead and throw your life away if you wish. You two are so unbearably cheesy, it makes my stomach churn in disgust.” 

Geralt paused. “What?”

“You heard me. I don’t care anymore. It’s obvious that no matter what I do, you’ll still throw your life away—so be it. but I won’t be taking part in it. Find someone else.” 

“I don’t have time to find someone else.” He said slowly. “Jaskier’s been out of it for days. His conditions will only worsen—”

“I was the one who examined him while you were busy playing sleeping beauty. He’s doing fine. He’ll recover—”

“But he’ll still die if something happens to me!” 

“Then don’t let something happen to you!” She snapped back. “He loves you, you know?” 

The witcher’s eyes fell on the floor. “It’s the bond.” 

“This isn’t a love potion, Geralt. A simple bond doesn’t necessarily equal love. He’s been following you around like a lovesick puppy for a whole decade. That kind of devotion isn’t just friendship. It’s borderline worship. He’s so smitten with you that you could say jump and he’d throw himself off a cliff without hesitation.”

_He’d follow you to the gates of hell if you so much as ask._

That’s what the Countess had said. 

Yen was right. 

“You saw what happened after the dragon’s hunt. The drinking, the women, the Baron. What do you think will happen when he learns that you gave your life away from something as meaningless as his humanity?”

“It’s not meaningless—”

“It is when we both know It’ll kill him.” 

Geralt didn’t say anything for a moment. 

“Is there another way for him to regain his humanity?” He then asked. 

“True love’s kiss?” She chuckled dryly. “Who knows, it might work.”

“Then you have my answer.”

“I don’t know everything—there could still be a way to fix all this. But this isn’t about the curse, is it?”

As always, she read him like a book.

“You don’t think you deserve him.”

Even if there was a chance this could all work out, there was still this voice inside his head, urging him not to let his guard down—

Not to open up-

That it wasn’t real—that Jaskier couldn’t feel this way, not toward him.

“Well, you’re right. You don’t. All you do is push people away, and treat them like shit. But,” She shook her head in disbelief. “Despite all that, there will always be people that’ll care for you.” Her voice was faint. “Love you, even.”

“So if it’s punishment you’re after, there are much simpler ways to get it. Just tell him the truth. Tell him what you’re about to do, and I guarantee you that your need will be quenched.” 

So Geralt tried. 

He really did, but every time he approached Jaskier, he was met with complete silence. Ever since they came out of the mines, the bard hadn’t uttered a single word. Not to him, at least. 

He didn’t seem to remember what Geralt had told him that night, back in their tent. If he had, he would no doubt be working his voice raw, trying to convince him to change his mind—not ignoring him, as if he was another one of those nameless soldiers in camp. 

A growl woke him. 

Geralt reached for his sword in the dark of the night, his instincts as sharp as ever—but there was no monster to slay, only a storm. Thunder roared, rain poured against the tent, the wind blew—he relaxed. As he tried to find sleep again, he noticed the quietness in the room.

Something was missing—

or rather, someone. 

He couldn’t hear Jaskier’s soft breath. The couch was empty, and so was the rest of the tent. 

Geralt got up in a hurry and grabbed his cloak. 

It was probably nothing, but worry settled in the pit of his stomach. Heavy and hot, like boiling water. 

He made his way around camp, looking for the bard, but there was no sign of him anywhere. The camp was empty. Even the soldiers on watch had deserted their posts to find shelter from the rain. 

As he was about to give up, he heard a familiar voice near the stable. It was faint, muffled by the storm, but he recognized it immediately.

It was Jaskier.

He found him in Rat’s enclosure, brushing her fur. Dark bags lay under his eyes, his skin was as white as a sheet. That wasn’t the face of someone who was recovering. At all. He looked sick. 

“Hey.” He said in relief.

Jaskier didn’t bother greeting him. He carried on with his business, as if Geralt hadn’t just arrived, out of breath and dripping from head to toes. 

As if he wasn’t even there. 

“It’s the middle of the night, what are you doing here?” He asked. 

When Jaskier didn’t answer, he threw his cloak on the fresh hay and sighed. If the bard didn’t wanna talk, so be it. 

He lay down and closed his eyes. 

“What are you doing?” Jaskier said after a moment, his annoyance obvious. 

“What does it look like? Sleeping.”

“Can’t you do it elsewhere?” 

“No.”

And that was the end of it. 

Jaskier continued brushing Rat’s fur, while Geralt listened to his singing. 

Despite what he claimed, he actually enjoyed the bard’s songs. It kept his mind from drifting on the bad stuff—kept him focused on their travels. 

But this one was new to his ears. 

Sadder. 

“I thought you despised horses.” Geralt said. 

The bard always complained about their stench—their hair, sticking on his clothing, yet here he was, gazing fondly at his mare. 

“Not this one.” He said. “I heard her panic. The storm scares her. I thought I’d keep her company.” 

“She’s a nice mare.” He hummed in agreement. 

“She’s the first gift you ever gave me.”

Geralt cracked an eye open. “I give you things all the time.”

“Yes, rudeness, insults, pain—”

“I recall giving you other things as well. Protection, blood, pleasure. You didn’t complain then.” He said, trying to lighten the mood. 

Jaskier’s dark glare was anything but amused. 

After a moment, he asked, “Does it hurt?” 

Geralt could still feel the wraith’s hold in his flesh. When he closed his eyes, he saw blood. He smelled it too. It was as if he hadn’t left the mines. As if he was still lying on that ground, dying. Bringing Jaskier with him.

“I got impaled by a Wraith. It will hurt for a while.” He said slowly. 

“What about the other wounds, the ones I left?” 

“No.” 

“Shame.” He said, weakly. 

His guilt was evident, but it wasn’t his fault. They both had been too caught up in their pleasure to notice how much blood Geralt was losing.

He patted Rat’s side one last time before sitting next to Geralt. 

“Would you have tried to find me had she not told you to?” 

Geralt took a long and deep breath. 

“No.”

“Well, at least you’re honest,” Jaskier said, dejectedly. 

Geralt swept an arm around his waist and pulled him closer. 

“I wish I could tell you that, every day we were apart, I missed you. That all I could think of was your face—” He chuckled. “but that’s not who I am. I kept my mind busy with the job. I hunted so many different monsters that I can’t even remember what they were called, or where I slew them. If the countess hadn’t sent her men to get me, I’d still be roaming around, killing vermin.” He stroked Jaskier’s face.

“But now I can’t even do that, because every time I leave your side, there’s this weight on my chest—this fear—like it’s the last time I’m gonna see you. This was supposed to be my purpose, the one thing I was good at, but—”

He couldn’t do it anymore. Not when a single mistake would send them both to their graves. 

“You took it from me.” 

“So this is my fault now?”

“Yes.” He sighed, pulling him against his chest. “No. It’s mine. I’m sorry it took the Countess kidnapping me, to make me realize that you’re important to me.”

Jaskier’s face softened. “You could’ve told me, I would’ve understood.” 

“You got cursed—I had other things on my mind.” 

“What’s more important than the trust between us?”

“Your life.” 

That’s all Geralt could think of. All the time. 

“You’re not my keeper. I can take care of myself.” The bard said.

“No, you can’t. Not when you’re like this.”

“Like what, Geralt.” He lifted one of his brows. “A monster? Is that what you think I am?” 

“Jaskier—”

“Answer me.” 

“You know what I meant.”

“No, I don’t. You say so many words now, I can’t differentiate what’s true and what’s not anymore. Everything that comes out of your mouth is either half-truths or outright lies and I can’t keep up.”

He looked so tired. 

So fed up.

“I don’t mean to lie to you—” 

“But you do, all the time. If I’m human again, what happens to us?” He scoffed. “Can we even go back to how we were before—can you?”

“No.” Geralt said truthfully. “I don’t want to go back.” 

“What do you want, then?” 

He held the bard by the back of his neck and leaned in.

“You know what.” He said, voice low, his lips almost touching Jaskier’s. 

“Say it.”

“I want you.” 

As soon as the words left his lips, Jaskier crashed their mouths together. Their kisses were desperate and needy and Geralt sighed in relief.

“I’m sorry I almost killed you,” Jaskier said, between two breaths.

“Which time?” Geralt chuckled, lowering the bard on top of his cloak. 

“Anything else I should know of, any other betrayal you omitted to tell me?” 

Geralt shook his head. “No.”

Jaskier gave him a doubtful look. “No?” 

“No.” 

The lies just kept piling up, no matter how hard he tried to be honest. But he knew very well how the bard would react if he told him the truth.

He’d resist, do something rash—or he wouldn’t. 

He’d simply leave and Geralt would lose him, forever. 

He couldn’t tell him. Not now. 

“I don’t want to be apart from you, Geralt.” He whispered. “Never again.”

When Jaskier looked up, the witcher froze.

How could he ever abandon him?

But—he was out of options. The curse had to be lifted—the bond, broken. 

Jaskier’s lips were soft against his own. He guided the witcher’s hands toward his shirt, encouragingly. 

“Tell me more.” Geralt said, his voice almost begging. 

He needed to know that this wasn’t the curse talking—that Jaskier wasn’t forced into this. 

“I yearn for your arms around my waist, your breath against my neck… I want to wake up next to you for the rest of my life, Geralt.” 

Jaskier’s way with words was unmatched. Only a few sentences from him and Geralt’s restraint was no more. A flame lit in the pit of his stomach. Never had he wanted someone as much he wanted Jaskier right now. 

It frightened him. 

Geralt kissed him deeply, breathing in the familiar scent as if he couldn’t live without it. And in a way, he couldn’t. Not anymore. If he’d been human, he too would’ve wished to spend his life by the bard’s side. Growing old with him, the way humans did. 

“What about before?”

“Before, now, later—I’ll always be yours. No matter what. I won’t let anything pull us apart, not even bloody destiny. Not if I have a say in it.”

“Is that so?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier hummed. “Oh, yes, dear Witcher. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you by my side.”

He couldn’t tell if his words were his own or the bond talking. But the way Jaskier whispered them so tenderly, without doubt, or hesitation, brought a smile to his lips. 

He held the bard in place as he ravaged his mouth fervidly. 

When he finally pulled away, Jaskier was gasping and his face was no less than a rose in full bloom. He tore his shirt open. Buttons flew, fabric ripped, and Jaskier gaped in shock 

“That shirt was from Toussaint.” 

“Hush.” Geralt said. 

He kissed the side of his face, his jaw, then left a soft bite right between his shoulder and neck. When Geralt got to his stomach, Jaskier turned squeamish. He twisted and pulled as the witcher made his way down, dragging his teeth and tongue over his ticklish skin. 

“Stop wriggling about.” 

Jaskier’s eyes were dim and crimson, his mouth—opened and plump, with the tip of his fang peaking below his upper lip. 

He looked so tempting, 

So beautiful. 

Geralt didn’t see a monster. He only saw Jaskier. The man he fell for. 

“Any other command?” Jaskier groaned. 

Geralt shrugged. “Feel free to call my name as many times as you wish. I won’t try to take your balls for it.” He said, grabbing a hold of his belt and unbuckling it in haste. 

“Oh, you cheeky bastard.” The bard smiled. Then his eyes widened when the witcher pulled down his undergarment in one quick move. “Wait—hold on—”

He took Jaskier’s cock into his mouth before the smaller man could protest. His back arched, his hips rolled into Geralt’s touch. 

“Fuck—!” He hissed, shoving a hand into the witcher’s hair for support. 

Geralt’s head bubbled up in down, taking as much as Jaskier as he could, enjoying the way his body squirmed below him. 

Soon, the bard’s hold turned forceful. The fist in his hair tightened, making Geralt take him even deeper—faster. The sting on the back of his head made his stomach fluttered in need. 

“I can smell your lust, darling.” Jaskier smiled lazily. “Should I indulge you?” 

_Darling—_

And he was the cheeky one?

Before he could answer, Jaskier twisted his locks into a tight and restricting hold. 

Geralt groaned at the pain. He had forgotten about Jaskier’s particular taste for roughness—not that he minded it. He could be rough all he wanted, Geralt would still have his way with him. 

“Oh if you could see yourself right now.” He moaned, trusting freely into Geralt’s welcoming mouth. “Choking on my cock like a starved bitch.” He said, as his cock reached the back of his throat. “You’re beautiful.” 

Jaskier’s praises were filthy, meant only to provoke him—and it did. Every time he opened his mouth, Geralt’s face flushed even more. 

“Please do tell, witcher, where you learned such fine skills—” He said, his grip clenching as Geralt rolled his tongue around the tip of his cock. 

The witcher’s breathing turned labored and wet.

Heat rose in the pit of his stomach.

“God—that mouth of yours is divine.” 

His own cock was now painful against his trouser, begging for some kind of relief. But Geralt was too focused on the bard to pay it any mind. The ceiling could collapse on their heads and the witcher wouldn’t care. All that matter was Jaskier. 

As Jaskier’s pleasure grew in intensity, so did his strength. His thrusts became strong and ruthless, and very much deadly. Jaskier had no idea how powerful he truly was, now. The witcher had to still his hips before the bard choked him to death. 

Death by cock— 

A very embarrassing way to die, indeed.

“I shall write you a thousand songs, people will sing of your prowess all across the continent—oh.” Jaskier wept, voice high, his whole body shuddering.

He was close, so close. Geralt put more weight on his hips, pinning them against the hay as he swallowed him down eagerly.

It wasn’t long before Jaskier spilled in his mouth, eyes rolling back, moaning in pure ecstasy. 

“Fuck—” He said, breathlessly. “that was perfect. More than perfect—you’re like the deity of cock sucking—”

“Shut up.” Geralt, growled, wiping his mouth in annoyance. 

He had heard enough. He raised Jaskier’s ass up.

“Wait—” The bard yelped. 

But Jaskier had pushed him way over his limit—he couldn’t wait anymore.

He nudged his face right between his inviting cheeks. The bard let out a strangled whine, but didn’t try to fight him. Instead, he turned completely lax into his grip while the witcher lapped and fucked him slow with his tongue. Soon, all that came out of his mouth was gibberish, filled with whimpers and high moans. 

“You’re an animal.” He whispered, eyes closed, drowning in his own pleasure. 

By the time Geralt was satisfied with how wet and relaxed he was, Jaskier was hard again. Without warning, he pushed a finger into him. His back arched, his body shivered. He was warm and tight, so tight. 

The bard’s eyes opened again—red and bright and dangerous. The beginning of a growl grumbled from within his throat. 

“Fuck—” He hissed, his claws now digging into Geralt’s shoulders.

His want was heavy in the air, and so was his hunger. It made Geralt dizzy. The need to offer his neck to Jaskier grew almost unbearable. But he didn’t want to lose control again. Not while the bard looked so ravishing. 

“Don’t hold back.” He groaned. “I can take it—” 

and he took it well. His whole body was like melted butter beneath Geralt. He didn’t resist at all when a second finger was added. If anything, he looked—relieved. Geralt took his time and opened him up carefully. But after a particularly hard thrust, Jaskier’s patience wore out. He shoved his hips down.

While he may look delicate, Jaskier was quite the opposite. Geralt wouldn’t break him—even if he tried to.

He added another finger and angled them upward. 

“Oh— _oh_.” Jaskier wept.

“Good?” He asked, thrusting at the same angle again. 

“More than good—” He gasped, voice high and wavering. “there—please don’t stop.”

And he didn’t. He kept pushing against his sweet spot over and over again and Jaskier sang so beautifully. His cheeks turned as red as his eyes—his pupils dilated in ecstasy. 

Then, something dark flashed over his features. The witcher barely had a moment to react before Jaskier surged forward. Geralt pressed the back of his arm against his throat and pinned him down into the hay.

“Fuck—” Jaskier whimpered, shoving his head back in frustration. “You’ll have to hold me down—I can’t—” 

The witcher made sure to put all his weight on Jaskier, to prevent him from rising up. There was no doubt now that if he let go, the bard was going to pounce. 

“I got you.” 

He must’ve been starving. 

While he was out, Yen had explained that Jaskier had tried to feed on smaller animals. He had even given a try to rabbits again—but he couldn’t keep anything down. Bruxae had a particular taste for human blood, but blood was blood, no matter the kind. Geralt had yet to hear of one who couldn’t feed on animals— 

But Jaskier was different. 

And that was definitely the bond’s doing. 

“I don’t mind.” Geralt said, moving his arm up and offering him his wrist. “Go ahead.” 

Jaskier took a deep breath before turning his head away.

“Not hungry?” Geralt asked. 

“I don’t want to hurt you again—”

“I trust you.” 

He would always trust him, no matter what. And also, he craved for Jaskier’s teeth just as much as the bard craved for his blood.

The bite was shy and hesitant at first, then turned desperate and hungry in a matter of seconds. The toxin entered his blood like melted steel. It sent shivers across his whole body, making his cock twitched, hot and dripping against his pants—

God, he was about to burst in his trouser just from Jaskier’s bite. 

Geralt increased his pace until the bard became a complete mess. Mewling in pleasure, gulping down his blood greedily. He wrapped a hand around his own cock and stroked it in sync with Geralt’s thrusts. His moans were so loud now that the witcher wouldn’t be surprised if he scared off the horses. 

“Come here.” He hissed, grabbing Geralt by the hair.

The witcher didn’t resist as Jaskier lips hovered on his neck. He wanted it so much, it hurt. He tilted his head to the side and that was all the permission Jaskier needed. 

He dug his teeth harshly into his skin. 

All it took was one bite. 

One single bite and Geralt came untouched, spurting into his trouser like he was sixteen again. His mind turned blank and a soft groan tore its way from his throat. Jaskier followed quickly behind, choking back a wet sob as he came hotly over his stomach. 

They lay there, breathless for a while. 

“Did I ever tell you how pretty you are, witcher?” Jaskier said, “I mean, you really, really are pretty. Especially like this, all spent and gasping.” 

He was already so embarrassed, he couldn’t hear any more of this. 

He burrowed his face into the bard’s neck. 

“Stop talking.” 

“Why? I can tell you like it when I praise you.” He cooed. “And I can also tell how much you crave to be bitten—” He leaned into his ear. “Come for me like this again and I’ll have no choice but to tie you up and make you beg for my cock.”

God—he could feel himself hardening again.

They kissed, and Geralt tasted his own blood against his tongue. But he didn’t care. All he wanted was to pin Jaskier down and have him right here. 

He needed it. 

“Can you handle more?” Geralt asked, voice rough. 

“More—” The bard glanced down at Geralt’s crotch, chuckling. “My first time will not be in a stable, you beast.” 

Geralt pulled away. 

His first time— 

He looked around, slowly. “And I’m afraid we’re quite underequipped—you’ll tear me in half. Let’s go back to our tent—” When his eyes returned on the witcher, he paused. “What’s the matter? Oh.” He said in realization. “I’ve been with men before, just not—” He gestured vaguely. “on the receiving end.”

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Geralt sighed. 

He shouldn’t be doing this. 

No matter how much he tried to tell himself that Jaskier wanted this-that Yen was right, and his sentiments for Geralt weren’t because of the bond—

There was no way of knowing. 

He could be taking advantage of him—forcing him into something he didn’t want— 

And Jaskier deserved better for his first time than being fucked in a stable, by a man who kept lying to him—

He deserved so much more. 

“Why, does it bother you?” Jaskier asked. 

He stayed silent. 

Then, the bard’s smile turned cold. 

“or is it because of the bond?” 

Geralt’s eyes widened in surprise. 

“Did you really think I wouldn’t remember?” He shook his head slowly.

Before he could say anything, Jaskier tackled him. 

“What are you doing?” He hissed.

The bard held him in place by the jaw. 

“All I asked was honesty—trust. Yet you lied and lied, even now, as I was in your arms. I’ve been patient but no more.”

He hadn’t recovered from the Wraith’s blow yet and was too weak to fight him off, but he still tried. He pushed and shoved but Jaskier was like a boulder on top of him. Unmoving and stubborn. 

“Stop struggling.” He said dryly. 

Geralt’s arms fell back to his side, now too heavy for him to move. 

This couldn’t be happening—

“Jaskier—” He called. “Stop—”

“You’ve forced my hand, Geralt. What other choice do I have?”

Panic rose inside his chest— 

“Now, now, don’t fret. You trust me, remember?” He said, stroking the side of his face. “It’s just a shame I can’t say the same.”

This shouldn’t be able to work on him—

Yet his whole body relaxed instantly. His mind turned foggy. 

“Don’t do this—” Geralt begged.

“Then don’t make me do this!” He shouted. “I’m terrified Geralt. Properly terrified, because I know that look—you’re about to do something stupid.”

“I’m not—” He growled, “Let go.” 

“Stop lying to me.” He ordered. 

That kind of mind control wasn’t supposed to work on Witchers … but Geralt had let his guard down. 

He had been so foolish. 

“That night—was that a goodbye?” He asked.

Geralt tried to resist, but it was pointless. His own mind had betrayed him. 

He nodded slowly. 

“You’re my family too,” Jaskier said, voice breaking. “I can’t lose you.” 

It had been a long time since Geralt felt genuinely scared. And right now, he was scared of Jaskier—

Scared of what he would do. 

“I meant every word I said earlier. Whether destiny, a curse, a bond—I won’t let anything pull us apart. So either you tell me what’s going on.” 

He paused, eyes flashing bright. 

“or I’ll force it out of you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope yall liked that smut >:) 
> 
> Leave them kudos and comments down below!


	18. Chapter 18

“I meant every word I said earlier. Whether destiny, a curse, a bond—I won’t let anything pull us apart. So, either you tell me what’s going on.”

He paused, eyes flashing brightly.

“or I’ll force it out of you.”

“Don’t.” Geralt almost begged.

The witcher had brought this upon himself. He lied, broke Jaskier’s trust, trampled on his feelings, over and over again— 

Why wouldn’t he show Geralt the same courtesy? 

He sure deserved it.  
  
But he still hoped that deep down, Jaskier cared enough not to go through with his threat. Because the real Jaskier—the man he met at Pasada, who cried after hearing of the elf king’s misery, the man who sympathized with every living thing out there, wouldn’t do this.

No matter what. 

He would never force Geralt, let alone anyone to do something against their own will.

“You won’t do it.”

“Why’s that?” He asked, menacingly. 

“I know you. Once you cross that line, there’s no going back.” The trust between them, whatever little remained, would be gone. “You’re better than this—”

_Better than him_.

“I was. Now, I’m not so sure anymore.” He paused, grabbing him by the jaw. “You set all those rules for me to follow, yet you disregard every single one of them. Why should I be the only one playing fair?” 

He tried to fight him off, but it was pointless. All Geralt could do was wait helplessly beneath Jaskier until the man decided to set him free.

Which he wouldn’t. Not until he had his answers.

“Just this once, don’t fight me.” He said, breath soft against his ear. “Please?”

And the witcher was the one not playing fair? 

As soon as Geralt opened his mouth, everything tumbled out. The merchant, the curse, the bound. Everything. 

Jaskier listened in silence, without interrupting him even once.

“The only way to fix this—” He finished, hesitantly. “is for me to die.”

The bard didn’t speak for a while. He just stood there, looking at Geralt blankly, as if processing what he had just heard. Taking it all in. 

“No wonder Yennefer wanted me dead.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Fix what, may I ask? What’s the goal here? Turn me back into a human, is that it?”

The witcher sighed. “I wished there was another way.” 

“Look at you—savior of my humanity.” He scoffed, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “Oh, I bet you love this.” 

“Do you think I asked for this? No, but I still need to do what has to be done.” 

“You act like you’re doing this noble deed, but did you once wondered about what I want? Do you even care? Because I can tell you—I don’t want this, Geralt. I don’t want to lose you.”

“Enough.” Geralt said dryly. “Just find some maiden to help you forget like you usually do. Or better—go back to the countess and settle down. I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to welcome you back with opened arms—” and give him the proper life he deserved. 

The slap hit him hard, silencing his cruel words in an instant.

“Do you think I care for you so little that I can be dissuaded by your lies? If not your lover, I am your friend, I have been your friend for decades!” He shouted, cheeks reddening in anger. “Don’t you dare cheapen my sentiments just because you’re incapable of reciprocating them. I don’t need you to feel the same way, Geralt. I need you to be alive.” 

“Whatever it is you think you’re feeling right now, it’s not real. It’ll pass—”

“I love you, you buffoon.” Jaskier hissed. “I’ve been in love with you since the first moment I saw you, sitting in that bloody tavern.” 

And just like that, Geralt’s words died down and his mouth clamped shut.

He wasn’t good for Jaskier…He had nothing to offer him. No future, no comfort, no wealth. Nothing. Yet, at this very moment, the witcher had never felt so happy.

“After I left that mountain, I promised myself that I would move on and forget all about you. But I couldn’t. Do you know why that is?” 

The witcher shook his head slowly.

“Because everywhere I turned, I saw your stupid face. I tried everything to make you go away. Booze, women, more booze—” He paused, tilting his head to the side. “more women, but nothing helped. The countess couldn’t fix me, I couldn’t fix me—no one could. I was a mess.”

“I should’ve come to you sooner.”

“But you didn’t. That’s the whole point. I should hate you, yet there hasn’t been a single moment while we were apart that I didn’t miss you.”

Geralt had missed him too. So much. 

“I don’t expect you to say it back. I thought you should know before—” He sighed. “It doesn’t matter. Call it what you will. Magic, curse, bound, those words mean absolutely nothing to me. I know my heart better than anyone and it has been aching for you long before this curse.”

The witcher had lived many lifetimes. Years and years of wandering around the continent, pushing away anyone that got too close. Sure, he had a few lovers along the way, but not like this.

Not like Jaskier. 

He was the only one that had persisted beyond Geralt’s boundaries. Beyond his walls. 

The first to ever say “I love you” to him

A flush made its way along his throat, his heartbeat quickened…

“Let me go.” He asked.

“We both know that as soon as I release you, you’ll rush to your dea—are you serious right now?” He said, glancing down at the erection now pressing against his bottom. 

God, this was embarrassing. He gave the bard a pleading look.

“I want to hold you.” 

He would do way more than simply hold him. He’d make Jaskier his and never leave his side again.

Never hurt him. Never lie to him again… 

It was time he stopped this ridiculous charade. 

“Look me in the eyes and promise me you’ll forget about this idiotic plan.”

No more pretending. 

“I can’t. Not if it’s the only way to save you.” 

Jaskier’s look softened. He cupped Geralt’s face in his hands.

“Geralt of Rivia.” He said, fondly. “The mighty white wolf, the man who claims to be neutral, yet would sacrifice himself for a human in the blink of an eye.”

“Not any human.” He said. 

Just him. 

Because Jaskier deserved to live a full life. 

A human one.

“Stay here,” Jaskier ordered. 

And left.

  
It had been a few hours since the night had fallen. The horses were asleep and the stable was quiet. Geralt was still lying in the same pile of hay where Jaskier had left him when he smelled an acidic scent in the wind. 

_Desperation_. 

He heard footsteps in the distance.

“Witcher!” A voice called.

The footsteps got closer. The labored breathing— louder. 

He waited in silence, unable to call for help, hoping that whoever was coming would find him here. 

“Geralt—” The voice was closer now, more urgent. “Geralt of Rivia!”

Hector appeared before him, a smiled of relief on his face.

“I looked everywhere for you!” He said, catching back his breath. He leaned against the wall and wiped the sweat off his brows. “Vaslon’s here and things aren’t looking good.”

When Geralt didn’t say anything, the commandant frowned. “What are you even doing in the stable. Don’t tell me you’re hiding?” 

The witcher threw him a dark glare. 

“No matter. Follow me. I don’t know what Vaslon’s after, but judging from the small army he brought, and the Baron’s henchman by his side, it’s bad. I’m certain it concerns Master Jaskier.”

Geralt yelled at this body to move, to get out of this trance, but not a single muscle stirred. 

“Why aren’t you saying anything? Are you actually scared?” He waved a hand in front of Geralt’s face. “Hello? Didn’t you hear what I said—oh. This is the bard’s doing, isn’t it?” 

He raised a fist.

“Please don’t kill me.” 

The punch sent the witcher deeper into the hay, clutching at his jaw in pain.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Geralt growled, hauling him up by the collar. 

“Would y-you really harm the man who saved you?” Hector stuttered. 

The witcher clutched his fist around the fabric, watching in awe as his fingers moved freely around the collar. The weight around his limbs was gone now. His whole body was as light as a feather. 

While the spell would have worn off, eventually, Geralt had to admit he was glad the commandant found him. 

He let go. 

“This henchman, what does he look like?” He asked. 

“Scary fellow. Threatening glare. As soon as I saw them arrived together, I knew something was amiss”

_Fuck_.

It had to be the headhunter. The man Geralt had refused to kill.

The man that had managed to give them the slip while they were otherwise … busy. 

“I told Master Jaskier last night! Didn’t he tell you?”

He hadn’t said anything. 

“You were supposed to leave. The both of you.” Hector said, a hand on his hip as if lecturing a child. 

Whatever the bard was planning, Geralt had to stop him.

“Where is he?”

Vaslon had organized a banquet in honor of their victory against the wraiths. About a dozen soldiers patrolled the area around the tent where it was held. All of them armed to the teeth, as if expecting a full-on battle. 

The wraiths were already dead, the only real threat in the camp was—

“They’re after Jaskier,” Hector whispered. 

Geralt gave him an obvious look.

While the witcher was confident in his abilities, there were too many of them. From what Hector had told him even more awaited inside. 

Fighting them all off wasn’t an option, not to mention that he was still recovering from a pretty serious injury. He’d be lucky if he could take on a single one of them. 

They had to be smart about this. 

“Let’s rush in and kill them all,” Hector suggested a devious smile on his lips. 

“Isn’t he your lord?” 

“I only serve justice.” 

They waited until most of the soldiers were in mid-rotation and only one of them stood guard in front of the entry. 

Together, they could kill him off quickly. 

“Make sure no one sees you.” 

Geralt drew his sword. 

“Why—it’s not like we’re intruders, we can just—” Hector gestured the door. “Go in.”

The witcher paused, “Why didn’t you say so sooner. We’ve been standing here for more than half an hour.” 

“Well, it just occurred to me—”

Geralt didn’t wait for him to finish, he rushed to the door.

“No weapons.” The soldier said as they arrived.

“Move or I’ll break your spine.” Geralt growled.

The soldier froze, his hand hesitant on his sword. 

“Come, come, no need for violence, Witcher,” Hector said, turning to the soldier. “You’re Kilan, right?” 

“That’s right, commandant.”

“I used to buy silk from your mother, at the market. Is she well? I heard your village got quite the ghoul infestation.”

“We do, but she’s doing well, sir.”

Geralt was starting to lose patience. It wouldn’t be long before the soldiers finished their rotation. While they probably wouldn’t be stopped, they wouldn’t be able to enter with their swords.

Without their weapons, they wouldn’t stand a chance. 

“Good.” Hector nodded slowly. “Well, you see, we’re in a hurry, so if you could just let us through—”

“It’s Lord Vaslon’s orders, sir. We can’t let anyone enter with their weapons—”

“If you don’t move away from this door, son, you’ll find your dear mother rotting in a field, her flesh devoured beyond recognition by every single ghoul in the neighborhood. Is that what you want?”

The soldier moved out of the way so fast, he almost stumbled over his own feet. “Have a n-nice meal, sir.”

“Thank you, Kilan.” 

Geralt gave Hector an impressed look. 

“Was that also serving justice?” He asked.

“Master Jaskier’s in danger.” He shrugged. 

And that was reason enough.

The ambiance at the banquet was festive. Soldiers danced and cheered loudly as Jaskier sang one of his popular songs. 

It wasn’t what Geralt had expected, at all. 

Yennefer was seated at one of the tables, drinking wine. As soon as she saw him, her face crisped. 

She shook her head. 

A warning. 

_Don’t do anything reckless._

But Geralt was well past that point. He was about to do something very reckless. And stupid. Like perhaps, attempt to kill a very powerful lord and all of his soldiers.

The moment his and Jaskier’s eyes met, the singing stopped. The bard lowered his lute in surprise, not bothering to hide the scowl on his face. 

Geralt was the one that should be pissed, not the other way around. The bard wasn’t the one who had to spend a whole day trapped in his own body. 

Vaslon rose from his seat.

“Ah, the famous white wolf.” He smiled, his voice high and haughty. “I was wondering when you would join us.” 

The lord was exactly like Geralt had pictured him. Fat, arrogant and dressed in ridiculous fineries. His whole demeanor screamed of nobility. Even the way he looked at them; as if he stood above the whole world. Despite his facade, the witcher could smell the stench of fear on his skin. 

One would think that with all those soldiers surrounding him, the lord would’ve felt at ease—but no.

He was afraid.

But not of him, of Jaskier. Or rather, of what he could do. Surely he had heard about what had transpired in the woods. How the bard had massacred those headhunters.

He was right to be frightened. 

“I would’ve joined you sooner but I was otherwise held up.” He said, eyeing Jaskier darkly. 

Geralt’s anger was laced with worry. He wanted nothing more than to drag Jaskier out of the tent and just hide him away in some remote part of the world.

Away from everyone. Away from all this mess.

_Safe_. 

“Well, you’re here now. Sit, please. You too, Commandant.”

The witcher hesitated. 

“Not now,” Hector whispered, guiding him to their seats. 

While the headhunter was nowhere to be seen, Geralt was confident that as soon as Vaslon made his move, he would show up. If not to take part, at least to make sure that the deed got done. 

The witcher would take care of him. Permanently, this time. 

Vaslon clapped his hands together. “Resume.”

Jaskier complied, carrying on with his ballad as if nothing was wrong. The meal was eventually served, but Geralt didn’t bother touching his plate. He knew all too well how nobles liked to play around with their poisons. 

He didn’t want to take any risks. 

“Perhaps you should go easy on the murderous glaring?” Hector asked. 

But Geralt didn’t. 

He shifted his attention back on the bard, who was now in the middle of a discussion with Yennefer. Both of them looked on edged, whispering harshly as if arguing about something. 

Unease settled in the pit of his stomach. 

“Jaskier—” He whispered, loud enough for the bard to hear. “Vaslon knows about you.”

When the bard didn’t react, he carried on, “This isn’t the time for childish games. Whatever you’re trying to prove will be pointless if you end up losing your head.”

Not that Geralt would let that happen. He’d kill Vaslon way before it got to that. 

“Leave this to me,” Hector interjected, rising from his seat. “Master Jaskier, if I may, I’d like to request a song?”

Despite the dissatisfaction on his face, the bard approached. 

“What song?” He asked, warily. 

Once he was at arm’s reach, Geralt pulled him by the shirt. 

“We’re leaving.” He hissed. “Now.” 

“You were supposed to stay in the stable,” Jaskier sighed. 

“Like hell I was.” 

His face was paler than usual. He seemed out of breath and tired. 

“What’s going on?” Geralt asked, now properly worried. 

The bard glanced back at Yennefer nervously. 

Something was wrong. 

“Jaskier, answer me.” 

But before he had a chance to do so, the Lord called for him. 

“Bard, why don’t you tell us about what happened in the mines? You did promise us a song worthy of our time.” 

“Of course, my lord. It would be my honor.” Jaskier said, bowing gracefully. 

He threw one last glare at Geralt before turning away.

He sang of the wraiths, the soldiers’ tragic death, and of course of Hector’s prowess. A mix of half-truth and blatant lies, since he was one who had gotten the job done and saved their asses.

But it’s not like Jaskier could sing about that. 

When the song ended, everyone clapped. Everyone except Vaslon. 

“That was a lovely tale. But that’s what it was. A tale.” He said.

“What do you mean, my lord?” The bard asked.

“From what I heard, you played a big part in the slaying of those creatures.”

Geralt glared at Hector.

“It wasn’t me.” He whispered.

He believed him. What purpose would it serve to have Jaskier take the credit?

“Me, a big part?” He shook his head in amusement. “I did no such thing. Without the courage of your men, we would’ve all died. They were the real heroes of this story.”

Heroes who died like idiots. 

“Nonsense. Word is, you even slew a Bruxa and freed a village from its evil grasp. A man of your caliber shouldn’t be so humble. I believe a reward is in order.”

“Is that so, my lord?” Jaskier asked, raising one of his delicate brows, almost mockingly.

One of the soldiers brought a sword and presented it to the bard. 

“Yes. You have proven yourself to be a valiant warrior, therefore, I gift you this sword. An exquisite beauty made by one of the greatest swordsmiths in Aerdirn. Perfect for killing monsters.”

Fuck.

It was silver. 

It had to be. 

“It’s a trap.” Geralt said under his breath. 

“I am but a bard, Lord Vaslon. I’m afraid I wouldn’t know what to do with such a precious weapon.”

“Please.” He said dryly. “I insist. After all, a man of your renown should be adequately equipped.”

“Then how can I refuse?” 

Hector rose from his seat in panic. “My lord, simple coins would suffice—”

“You would dare to tell me, your Lord, what to bestow as rewards?” 

“Of course not, it was a mere suggestion—”

Geralt readied himself to draw his sword. 

Vaslon needed to be stopped.

Now. 

“Wait—” Yennefer cut in before Geralt made his move. “What about my reward?”

“Once this is settled, you’ll have your reward, sorceress.”

“You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t take your word for it. I want to see it first.”

Vaslon took an exaggerated breath. “But of course.” 

He whispered a few words and a soldier fetched back a jar covered in glowing markings. Geralt recognized them immediately; 

Fertility symbols. 

So this was what all this was about. Another one of her made-up fertility cures. That’s why she went to such length just to get rid of the wraiths. She didn’t care about the money or the fame—

She never did. 

“Here it is. Like promise. Now, let’s be done with this business. Take the sword, bard.”

She gave him an apologetic look before sitting back down. That’s when Geralt truly understood which side Yennefer was on.

Her own. 

Jaskier’s hand hovered above the sword hesitantly. 

“Time can still reverse.” He said, gazing directly into Geralt’s eyes. “Without bloodshed. Without unnecessary sacrifice.”

The tension in the room grew quickly. 

“Bard, you’re testing my patience,” Vaslon said.

“Jaskier—” Geralt warned. 

“All you need to do is give up on this ridiculous crusade for redemption.” 

Geralt shook his head. 

“No.”

“Then if you insist on following this path,” He took the sword, wrapping his hand tightly around the handle, “don’t blame me for doing the same.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update!! Hope yall like it!!


End file.
